Light the Way
by xxDustNight88
Summary: After being mysteriously attacked, Hermione finds herself under the care of Dr John Watson. Unable to travel back into the Wizarding world because of the ongoing threat, she's forced to spend the holidays within 221B trying to decipher the mystery, as well as discovering exactly why the eccentric Sherlock Holmes holds her interest and possibly, her heart.
1. 20 December

**Author's Note:** Happy holidays, you lovely readers! I'm thrilled to bring you my 2018 NaNoWriMo project, the expanded edition of Light the Way! This story was prompted by my good writer friend GaeilgeRua last year. I worked on it tirelessly over the month of November and I am now ready to share it with you! From the 20th of December until the 1st of January, I will be updating each day with a new chapter of this tale. I'm going to do my very best to keep to that update schedule, but as it is the holidays, please bear with me if a chapter comes a bit late at some point. I truly hope that you enjoy this holiday piece. Please make sure to leave me any kind feedback you may have. I love hearing from my readers!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to thescarletphoenixx for alpha reading this chapter. Also, a very large thank you to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 _Light the Way  
_ Rated: M  
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Hermione Granger  
Summary: _After being mysteriously attacked, Hermione finds herself under the care of Dr John Watson. Unable to travel back into the Wizarding world because of the ongoing threat, she's forced to spend the holidays within 221B trying to decipher the mystery, as well as discovering exactly why the eccentric Sherlock Holmes holds her interest and possibly, her heart._

. . . .

 **20 December 2018**

Hermione always enjoyed Thursday evenings, mainly because she would walk home instead of taking the Floo or apparating. She lived in Muggle London, preferring it to the unpredictability of the Wizarding sectors. Besides, having grown up as a Muggle, she was accustomed to living in such a manner anyway. She didn't mind, really. It allowed her to keep her work and real life separate for the most part. Of course, her wizarding friends often frequented her flat, but it was often easier to visit them instead.

After the hardships of the war, and trying to recover afterwards, living within the confines of the wizarding world just proved too difficult. At the suggestion of her therapist, she left behind 12 Grimmauld Place where she had been living with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, and found a place she could call her own. It was small and quiet, but that was precisely what she needed. This became especially true after she was moved from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Hermione enjoyed her life, even if it was a bit predictable at times.

It all began on a typical Thursday. Hermione, as current head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, had conducted their weekly meeting that morning, appeared in front of the Wizengamot for a case after that, eaten lunch with Harry and Theo, and then spent the remainder of the afternoon working through the stack of paperwork that threatened to overtake her desk. She was ready to head home by the time five o'clock rolled around, and even more prepared for tomorrow to be Friday. That's why, at ten to five, she had already gathered her purse and pulled on her jacket just as Harry popped his head around her doorframe.

"Hey!" he greeted, rapping his knuckles on the wooden frame and calling her attention toward the doorway.

She smiled at his presence. "Hey, Harry," she returned, wrapping her scarf around her neck. "Coming to make sure I'm not spending the evening buried under paperwork?"

"You know me too well," Harry said with a laugh as he leaned against the doorframe. He too was wearing his jacket, fully prepared to head home to Ginny and his three children. "So you're actually leaving on time today?"

"For once," she joked, double checking that she'd stashed a few case files in her magically expanded purse. She glanced up and met Harry's face with a grin. "I am taking a few things home to read over, but other than that, it's a relaxing night in for me."

"Sounds like it," Harry said, standing up straight and smoothing out his jacket. "Ready to go?"

"I think so," she replied, extinguishing the lights in her office and following her friend out into the hallway. "Do you and Ginny have any plans tonight?"

"Ginny is just making dinner, and then we're going to pass out as soon as the kids are asleep," Harry explained, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione laughed and lightly shoved her friend. "You know full well you probably will go to sleep as soon as they do," she teased.

"You're probably right," he agreed. Opening the lift doors, he gestured for Hermione to go inside ahead of him. She smiled in thanks and then he joined her. "You know, you're more than welcome to join us for dinner."

"I appreciate the offer," Hermione told her friend sincerely. "It's been a long week and tomorrow I have that case. I really just want to grab some takeout and have a night in." She gave Harry a smile as the lift took them downstairs.

"Just thought I would ask," Harry replied. "It's been a while since you came out to the house."

"I know and I will soon." Harry and Ginny no longer lived at 12 Grimmauld Place, but they did live in Godric's Hollow. Hermione still felt a bit uneasy going there even though the war was long gone. "I need to see the kids, and I'm sure Ginny could use a break from spending all her time with you and her mum."

"She really could. Not to mention George has been hanging around a lot lately too," Harry said as the lift stopped and the doors opened, revealing the Atrium.

As they moved out of the lift, Hermione said, "Well, it has to be hard for him. I really thought he and Angelina were going to last forever."

"Me too." Harry stopped in front of one of the large fireplaces that he would use to travel home. "Are you sure I can't convince you to come to dinner?" he asked once more, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Next time," Hermione answered. "I promise."

"What are you going to do for dinner?" Harry inquired, grabbing some floo powder and preparing to leave.

"I'm going to stop at Speedy's on the way to my flat," she explained, adjusting her scarf to prepare for the cold outside. When Harry made a face, she laughed and shook her head. "I know you hate the idea of me walking home, but I'll be fine. I have my wand, and I keep to the main roads."

"I know you do, but I hate that you'll be alone." Harry frowned and glanced at the floo powder in his hand. "Let me walk you home. I can floo or apparate from your place once I know you're safe."

Sighing heavily, Hermione reached out and wrapped her hands around Harry's that held the powder. "Ginny and the kids are waiting on you. If you walk with me, you'll miss dinner. I'll be fine. Promise."

Harry glanced at her hands and then up at her smiling face. "Are you sure, because you know I don't mind."

"I'm sure," she whispered, dropping her hands and taking a step backwards. "Go on, then." Hermione gestured to the fireplace with her chin. Smiling, she added, "And make sure to hug those kids for me. I miss them."

"Alright," Harry said, clearly still uncertain but allowing his friend her choice. "I will. See you tomorrow morning. Text me when you get home."

"I promise. Goodnight, Harry," Hermione said and then watched as Harry stepped into the floo, threw down the powder as he announced his address, and then vanished in a burst of green flames.

Once Harry was gone, Hermione's smile faded, and she turned to the other exit. Quickly, she made her way to the loo that would deposit her back into the Muggle world above. As she walked through the throng of other Ministry workers heading home to their families or friends, she tried not to think about how alone she would feel once she did get back. She'd told Harry she would be fine, and she would, but sometimes she wished she didn't have to be alone. It would be nice to go home to someone she cared about for once.

It was silly, really, to want such things, but she did nonetheless. Her heart ached for George, who so recently lost Angelina. They were a slightly sweet couple. Maybe things could be worked out between them, not like it had been between her and her second best friend. Their relationship had been a disaster from the start, but they managed to salvage their friendship in the end. Still, Hermione figured that there would be someone someday that she could call her own. Until then, she would be fine on her own.

Exiting the ladies loo on the street above the Ministry, Hermione tugged her coat more securely around herself and began the walk to Speedy's. She was true to her word, keeping to the well-lit streets and keeping her wand tucked safely in her sleeve. Never before had she encountered trouble on her walk home from the Ministry but one couldn't be too careful. It was a crazy world they lived in these days.

As she walked, her heels clicked on the cement, and the wind blew something fierce. Surely, it would snow within the next few days if not that night. She could smell it in the air. She was so close to Speedy's she could practically taste the soup and sandwich she intended on ordering for her supper. Just a block or two and she would be at the tiny little shop. To save a few moments, Hermione made a split second decision to duck through a short alleyway that would lead her directly onto Baker Street and to her destination. Holding tightly to her purse strap, Hermione quickened her pace as she walked through the near darkness.

In hindsight, she probably should have remained on the main road but one never really thinks of that until after something terrible happens. Regardless, Hermione found herself thinking only of getting her dinner and then hurrying home to relax on the sofa with her case files. It was a happy thought, but that didn't last long.

It was somewhat unnerving when Hermione realised that she was no longer alone. There was a scuffling as boots shifted on the concrete and then a shadow overtook her as she tried to whirl around. Whoever was there had been waiting for some unlucky person to wander through this alleyway. She tried to hurry and get back into the well-lit streets of London, but a foot kicked out and tripped her causing her to stumble into the street instead. Before she had a chance to retrieve her wand from the inside of her jacket, a fist shot out of the darkness and hit her square in the jaw. Her neck wrenched to the side and Hermione found herself falling to her knees. Hard.

Then she found herself being dragged back into the alleyway even as she struggled to catch her breath so she could scream for help. Realising the severity of the situation Hermione how to hurry and make preparations for what was to come. There was no time to retrieve her wand from the inside of her jacket, so she pulled from her magical core and used wandless magic to end the enchantment on her purse. "Finite," she managed to mutter, effectively making her purse return to normal so that her attacker wouldn't be able to get inside.

Knowing that for the time being her secret of being a witch was going to remain a secret, Hermione struggled to roll onto her back so she could try and kick up at her attacker. She never got the chance. Whoever was attacking her grabbed her by her hair and yanked her around so that her body slammed into the ground harder than it had the first time. Then the kicking began. It was relentless. She cried out gasping for air each and every time the substantial impact of the steel-toed boot make contact with her sensitive stomach chest and anywhere else it managed to hit. She knew tears must have been pouring from her eyes her all she could do was hold on to the hope that somebody would hear her crying or Screaming or gasping or whatever she had been able to do as the attack continued.

Feeling as if her entire chest was on fire Hermione inhaled as much as she could and then begin to scream and hopes that this at least what attract some attention to what was happening in the alleyway. Her screaming echoed off the narrow Alleyway, and she was sure that someone would indeed come to her rescue eventually. However this only and raised her attacker more he was hitting her now with sis and leaning over her as he knelt next to her frail and trembling form. Still, whoever it was, did not say a word, and his face was covered in a black mask with only two eyes peering down at her in the Darkness. His hands covered in black leather gloves reached out and wrapped they're strong fingers around her neck and begin to squeeze.

This was it. Hermione knew that she was going to die tonight in this very alleyway so close to home yet so far from everything she loved. Just as she felt the last of her breath leaving her as Darkness began to overtake her mind, she thought she heard someone shot from the mouth of the alleyway and then suddenly Fresh Air with soaring into her lungs and she gasped. Through her grogginess and pain Hermione saw a man taking on her attacker, but then it all became too much the pain the lack of oxygen, and the Darkness won.

. . . .

John had just left Mary with Rosie and hoped to head over to Baker Street to check on Sherlock knowing that he was currently working and a rather intense case. Sherlock had not been answering his phone calls or text messages, so he decided that he was going to come in at least make sure he hadn't drugged himself again for the sake of a case. Things had been rather tense between the doctor and detective since he married Mary and Rosie had come into the world. Now, Sherlock was still a good friend and detective, but John worried that the loneliness would begin to eat at him until he was forced back into his old habits from before they moved in together.

John had just passed the Chinese restaurant when he heard the scream. It caused him to stop in his tracks and take a look around. Surely, Sherlock would not have brought the case back this way. He thought it was only a simple case of stolen items and not one of murder. If it did involve murder, certainly Sherlock would have called him in to help at the very least. When the screaming was abruptly cut off, John knew there was indeed trouble. He started to run in the direction of the sound and managed to stop just at the end of an alleyway across from where 221B was situated. This was where the trouble was unfolding. John could hear gasping and scrambling as somebody was mercilessly beaten, or worse, murdered.

He had no weapons on him, not even his gun, but John was a soldier as well as a doctor, so he knew how to take someone down without a weapon. Surging forward, he entered the alleyway and immediately discovered the disturbance. A bushy-haired woman was on the ground; above her, a masked man was choking the life out of her. She was crying and scratching for her dear life, but he could tell that she was losing this battle. The man had apparently taken her by surprise and was much stronger than she was. John knew what he had to do. He rushed toward the scuffle and grabbed the man by the back of his neck.

It took minimal effort, and then John slammed his fist into the man's face, although he could not see what he looked like. He was able to manage a few more good hits before the masked man managed to get free. Then, he took off running in the other direction before John had a chance to grab hold of him. In the aftermath, John found that he was barely out of breath, but his heart was racing from the adrenaline of the situation. He worried that the man would come back before he had a chance to get the woman to safety and so he wasted no time worrying about himself.

Dropping to his knees, he immediately began to check the woman over to see how extensive her injuries were. He checked her neck first, realising that at some point she had passed out. It was red and tender, and already bruising could be seen on the pale skin that was exposed from her scarf having fallen open. He lowered his head to discover that she was, in fact, breathing and he sighed in relief at that fact. Her face had scratches and bruises. John imagined that she probably had further injuries and would require medical care, but he was afraid of what would happen if you called an ambulance and waited for its arrival.

There was a slight groan, and then the woman's eyes flickered open briefly. However, when she tried to speak, it became apparent that her neck was somewhat hurt from the strangling she'd taken. "Shh," John told her. "Relax. I'm Doctor John Watson, and I'm here to help you. Can you tell me your name?" She groaned and shook her head which only seemed to make things worse. "Never mind. We'll figure that out later. You're going to be fine." Frowning, John realised she'd passed out again.

Taking it upon himself, he carefully lifted the woman into his arms and decided that he would take care of her himself. If he waited to get her an ambulance, who knew how her condition would worsen. Gently, he carried the woman out of the alleyway and across the street to where 221B Baker Street sat. He rang the bell and waited for Mrs Hudson to answer the door. He did not have to wait long for the door opened only a few seconds after he rang the bell. Mrs Hudson looked startled to see him standing there with a woman in his arms.

"John? What happened? Who is this and where is Sherlock? I haven't seen him in at least two days," she said as she opened the door wider, allowing John to elbow his way inside.

"There was an attack, Mrs Hudson, just across the way. I managed to stop the masked man, but this woman was severely injured and requires medical assistance," he explained as he started for the stairs. "Do you mind if I take her upstairs?"

"Oh dear," Mrs Hudson gasped as she quickly shut and locked the door behind herself. Following after John, she said, "Of course! Take her to the living room. What can I do? Do you need any medical supplies?"

"I'll need my spare doctor's bag that I keep in my room still upstairs. Do you mind retrieving it for me?" John paused at the top of the stairs and allowed Mrs Hudson to open the door into the living room. He slipped into the room and placed the woman on the sofa after having had to wait for Mrs Hudson to clear off stacks of Sherlock papers.

"I'll go and get that right now. You just make sure she's alright," Mrs Hudson said, patting him on the shoulder as she hurried from the room.

John listened to her footfalls on the stairs leading to his old bedroom before he began to carefully unbutton the woman's jacket so he could further inspect her injuries. "What did he do to you?" John quietly asked, although he knew in her unconscious state she could not hear him.

After freeing her from the confines of her jacket, John was able to discover that she probably had her fair share of broken ribs and perhaps slight internal bleeding. However, that was something that would need to be tested further at a hospital. Right now, he did not have time to get her there. He needed to ensure that she would live as of now. Mrs Hudson returned to the room just as he was unbuttoning her blouse.

Mrs Hudson was gracious enough not to comment on the fact that John was undressing the strange woman in the middle of the room. Instead, she handed him the bag and then stepped out of the way so she could go and set a fire in the grate. "The poor dear must be freezing. It's so cold out there tonight that even I was forced to turn up the heat. Sherlock never keeps this place warm enough, and I have no idea where he has been these past few days."

John shot a look over his shoulder at Mrs Hudson. "I haven't been able to get ahold of Sherlock either. Do you know how his case is coming along?" John returned his attention to the woman and the bruising he could clearly see on the sensitive skin of her abdomen.

"I thought he had finished his case," Mrs Hudson explained as the fireplace came to life. "But he dashed off the other day without even a goodbye, and I haven't seen him since. Although, I suspect that he will return soon. He usually does when he senses a disturbance at the flat." Mrs Hudson gave John a smile and then moved to the kitchen to begin making some tea.

"Mrs Hudson, I don't think that she will be conscious enough for tea anytime soon," John teased but never stopped making sure he was dressing the woman's wounds correctly.

"Oh, I know that," Mrs Hudson said with a sad smile. "This is for you and for me."

"Thank you for everything, Mrs Hudson," John said, sitting back and staring at his handiwork. "I'm not sure why this woman was attacked, but I'm going to find out."

"Is she going to be alright," Mrs Hudson asked, setting the kettle on to the stove to warm.

"I believe so, but she has a few days of recovery ahead of her," John told his old landlady as he came to the kitchen to help her with the tea. "She will eventually need to go to the hospital for some scans just to be sure she's alright, but I think, for now, she will live."

"Do we have any idea who she is, "Mrs Hudson said turning to stare at the woman on the sofa. She crossed her arms. "I've never seen her before."

"I believe she was just passing through," John replied as he too stared at the woman he had just help save. "She has a purse, so perhaps I can inspect it and see if there's an identification card of some sort in there." He made a face then and then gave Mrs Hudson and look. "However, I would feel much better if you were the one to do that. I'm not sure I feel comfortable going through people's belongings especially another woman's. Would you mind?"

"Of course I wouldn't mind," Mrs Hudson said and moved forward into the living room once more. She glanced at the woman and then at the women's jacket that John had carefully laid over the back of the chair at the desk. Turning back to John she said, "I don't see a purse here."

John frowned remembering the woman having a purse in the alleyway. "I must have dropped it. Let me go and have a look outside." He turned and rushed back downstairs and outside to the alley to examine the area.

While he was gone, Mrs Hudson took the time to button the woman's shirt and remove her heeled shoes. She then grabbed a spare blanket from the back of the sofa and carefully lifted it over her body so that she would be warmer. The room was much more comfortable now with the fire going, but it was still slightly chilled and not precisely the temperature one would want to wake up to after having been attacked in an alleyway on a cold December night. She also slid a pillow underneath the woman's head for an extra bit of comfort because sometimes the sofa was not the most comfortable.

Just as the tea kettle whistled, John returned through the door with a frown on his face. "I couldn't find her purse, so I'm guessing the attacker must have come back for it after we left it behind. He must really have been hard up for some extra cash or whatever else she had inside of there."

"That's such a shame," Mrs Hudson said sorrowfully as she poured the tea into two cups for her and John. "People in this world these days just don't think about anything but that next fixe, do they?" she questioned.

"That's exactly the problem," John agreed, accepting his tea from her and then going to sit in his chair by the fire. "I think I'm going to stay here tonight just to make sure that she's going to be alright. I don't want her to wake up alone if she wakes up at all before the morning."

"I think that sounds lovely. Sherlock and I have kept your room the same upstairs." Mrs Hudson patted him gently on the shoulder as she sipped her tea. After a few quiet moments, she added, "Why don't you text Mary and let her know, and then in the morning, I can bring up some breakfast for all of you. Perhaps Sherlock will have returned by then."

"I will make sure to do that now," John said, retrieving his mobile from the inside of his jacket pocket. It was then that he realised that he still had his jacket on and so he removed it and set it aside for the night. He quickly typed out and message to his wife explaining the situation and then put his mobile aside as well. He thought about messaging Sherlock, but he had already done that numerous times today without a response.

As if reading his mind, Mrs Hudson patted his arm once more and then took their cups to the kitchen. "Sherlock is fine. You know if he were in a real bind, he would call you in an instant. I'm sure he'll be back soon, and he'll have more questions than answers for the both of us. Now, you gon on upstairs and rest. The poor dear will probably sleep until the morning."

"You're right," John said as he stood from the chair. He placed a hand on Mrs Hudson's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Thank you for your help tonight. I think she's going to be fine, whoever she is."

"You're welcome, and don't worry so much. When she wakes up, she'll explain everything," Mrs Hudson told him and then prepared to leave. "You sleep well, John. I will see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mrs Hudson," John muttered as the landlady swept back downstairs to her own flat.

He spent a few more minutes staring at the mystery woman, wondering why she had been in the alley and who exactly she was. The answers to those questions would have to wait to be answered. There was still the question of where Sherlock was and when was he going to arrive back at 221B. Deciding that it was better to try and get a few hours sleep than nothing at all, John turned out the lights and made his way up to his old room. Mrs Hudson had made sure that the woman would be comfortable for the night and he would make sure to check on her every couple of hours in case she woke up in pain.

Besides, he knew how frightening it could be waking up in an unknown place with injuries that you may not even remember how you got them. He had no idea whether or not she suffered a brain injury, but her head seemed to be all right when he examined it earlier. Mostly, it just appeared she'd been beaten, choked, and robbed of her belongings. Like Mrs Hudson said, there would be time for answers in the morning, and now John needed to rest so he could give her proper care when she awoke. With all this in mind, John made his way upstairs and fell into a fitful sleep.

. . . .

Harry didn't realise how late it had become until Ginny had to take the cup of tea out of his hand before it could go crashing to the floor. He shook his head to clear his mind of sleep and gave her a thankful smile. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't realise how exhausted I was until I sat down to relax."

"No worries," Ginny replied with a smile as she carried the cup to the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, "You should probably just go to bed, though. We can always watch that movie tomorrow night. It will be Friday, after all." She joined him in the living room again, curling herself up in his lap and tucking a piece of long hair behind the top of his ear.

"What time is it?" Harry inquired, tilting his head to look at the clock on the mantle. "After ten!" he exclaimed, jostling Ginny slightly as he dug in his pocket for his mobile phone. "Hermione was supposed to have texted me when she got home. I didn't realise how late it was."

"Oh, I'm sure she got home hours ago," Ginny said, settling back into her Harry's lap. "Did you invite her to dinner like I asked you to?"

"I did," Harry explained as a frown formed on his brow. He was scrolling frantically through his messages but found nothing new from his dear friend. "She never texted me that she got home tonight," he said, holding his phone up so his wife could read the messages. "The last thing I have from her was a text to meet for lunch this afternoon."

"I'm sure she's fine," Ginny said softly; although, there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind. She too hated that Hermione lived so far from them and that she was alone and often walked the Streets of London at night to get there. "Why don't you try calling her? We both know she stays up late reading or working on her cases."

"I guess I could do that," he said as he turned his attention to the mobile and tapped the little button that would call his friend. He held the mobile to his ear and waited while it rang. It rang numerous times before clicking over to voicemail. Harry decided he would leave a message. "Hermione? It's Harry. I was just calling to make sure that you made it home alright tonight because I hadn't heard from you. I fell asleep by the fireplace. Let me know when you get this message. You don't have to call since it's so late. I'll see you at the Ministry in the morning. Good night."

When he hung up the mobile, Ginny kissed him on the cheek. "See, she probably is either in the bath relaxing, or maybe she actually went to sleep early for once. I'm sure we'll hear from her before breakfast in the morning. Now, why don't you and I had upstairs to bed?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Harry said, fighting back a yawn. "I am rather tired and could use a good night's sleep."

"Who said anything about sleep?" Ginny said with a saucy wink as she climbed out of her husband's lap and took his hand in hers.

Harry chuckled and followed behind his wife as she led him toward the stairs. "I like the way your mind thinks, witch," he said, playfully swatting at her bottom. He was just about to swoop her into his arms and carry her up the stairs when his mobile rang in his pocket. He paused and extracted it, hoping to see Hermione's name across the screen. His heart gave a lurch when he saw that it was the Minister's number. Immediately, he swiped to answer the call and held the mobile to his ear.

"Kingsley?" he inquired, meeting Ginny's eyes with a serious stare. "What can I help you with this evening?" It was odd for Kingsley to message or call at all, let alone so late at night.

"Potter," Kingsley said with a seriousness that stopped Harry right in his tracks. "I'm going to need you to come into the Ministry tonight. There have been some attacks, and many of our staff have gone missing."

"Attacks?" Harry questioned, earning him a frantic stare from his wife. "Who's gone missing?"

"We can discuss things further when you've arrived. Please tell Ginny that I'm sorry to take you away from your family so late at night, but I fear that we have a situation on hand," the Minister explained solemnly.

"Please, sir, "Harry began, feeling his heart pound loudly in his chest with fear. "Have you been able to get ahold of Hermione? Is she there at the Ministry with you?"

There was silence on the phone for a moment, and Harry knew his worst fears were about to be confirmed. As if knowing this as well, Ginny reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing tightly in support for her husband. "I'm sorry," Kingsley said, his voice straining slightly. "We have not been able to get in touch with her. We fear that she has been one of our staff who has been captured. Please, hurry, and we will see you here soon to discuss this further."

The line went dead, and Harry slowly lowered his arm to stare at his wife, his own fears reflected in her eyes. "Hermione is missing," Harry told her. "There have been attacks, and countless Ministry workers are supposedly missing as well. I have to go in, and I'm not sure what is going on."

"Oh Merlin," Ginny whispered in horror. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked as Harry rushed past her to the front hallway.

He gathered his wand and keys and then turned to face Ginny. "I don't know, honestly. I knew something was wrong as soon as I realised Hermione hadn't checked in tonight. This is big, Gin."

"What could it be?" Ginny asked, reaching out and placing her hands on Harry's waist. She tugged him slightly closer knowing that soon she would have to say goodbye, not knowing whether or not he would make it home safe again.

"I've no idea," Harry's replied honestly. He wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close, breathing in the comforting scent that he had come to know to mean home. "We haven't had an issue like this one since the war. I'm not quite sure what to expect when I go into the Ministry."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. You and the rest of the team will figure it out and find Hermione before it's too late," Ginny mumbled into Harry's chest. Leaning back slightly so she could stare up into his emerald eyes, she added, "Please be safe and return to me and the kids in one piece, okay?"

"I think I'm more worried about finding Hermione than anything right now," he admitted, releasing his hold on his wife and stepping back so he could prepare to leave. "She's all alone out there, wherever she may be."

"Hermione can take care of herself, which is why you and I have let her live her life the way she wants instead of asking her to come back and live closer to the Wizarding world." Ginny heavily sighed and ran a hand through her red hair. "You know her; she always does what she wants to even if it means she's putting herself in danger."

"I think that's what worries me the most about her," Harry said, shrugging into his jacket that he had just grabbed from the back of the door stand. "I will send word as soon as I can when I know more about what is happening in our world." Harry placed a chaste kiss to her forehead and then smoothed his thumb over the spot to tip her head back so we could stare into her eyes. "Lock the door and put a protection spell around the house just to be safe."

"I will," she promised, doing her best to fight back her fears. "I'm also going to send word to the rest of the family so that they know at least a little bit of what's going on. We don't need anyone else going missing or worse."

"That's probably a good idea. Kiss the kids for me, and I will see you as soon as I can," Harry told his wife, this time dropping a kiss to her lips and then going to open the door. "I love you," he said, stepping out into the darkness, into the unknown.

"I love you too," Ginny said, waving slightly and then wrapping her hands around her midsection to hold in her tears. Harry gave her a wave and then the door was shut, and she was alone with their three children and the immense weight of knowing that they had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next.

After standing there for a moment, Ginny decided that she needed to soldier that on. She took a deep breath and then grabbed for her wand. She would make sure the house was protected and then she would contact her family and make sure they did the same. It was going to be a long night of waiting for answers, and she was sure she would get no sleep, but she could be confident that her loved ones were as safe as they could be.

. . . .


	2. 21 December

**Author's Note:** And I'm back with the second chapter! I'm excited about the feedback from the first. I do hope you are enjoying this! Sorry this is late. I've been traveling! Happy reading!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **21 December 2018**

To say that London was in chaos was a bit of an understatement in Sherlock's opinion. He had been out and about on this case for a little over forty-eight hours now, and still, he had no answers to the many questions that raced through his eccentric mind. In the end, he knew that whatever this disturbance was in the city, he would probably need to enlist John's help to solve this case. There were just too many odd bits and pieces that Sherlock found himself unable to figure it all out and he hated not knowing something.

There were far more missing persons and muggings than was typical for the city, and if he hadn't known Moriarty was dead as a doornail, then he would have suspected that the devious Consulting Criminal was the one behind the chaos. However, Sherlock decided at nearly three in the morning it was time to return to 221B Baker Street and regroup. Sliding his mobile phone out of his pocket, he swiped it to life and discovered that John had been trying to get ahold of him quite frequently over the past day and a half.

What was odder was that the frequency of his phone calls and texts increased earlier this evening as if there had been some sort of attack. Without reading any of the messages because that was a tedious task, Sherlock slid the mobile back into his pocket and hurried on his way back to his flat. He did not look forward to entering the empty flat, but he would bother Mrs Hudson for some tea and possibly biscuits in the morning so as so not to be so alone.

As he passed along the streets, he tried to piece together all the details of his case. Someone was running amok in the city, capturing people and hiding them away somewhere. No unidentified bodies were washing up along the Thames or being discarded in disturbing places. They were being kept, but Sherlock knew not where or for what purpose. More people were being mugged each and every day and causing a disturbance with Scotland Yard. Lestrade had asked him to take on this case, but still, he was at a loss. Lestrade was unhappy, but Sherlock was even more so because there were dead ends at every turn and he knew not where to go next.

Sherlock made his way toward 221 B, sulking and ignoring just how cold is feet were, and the fact that he probably could use a decent meal. He had no time for such things at the moment. He needed to figure out what was going on in London so that he could solve the case and clear his mind of it all. He approached the door to his flat not even thinking of anything but getting inside and curling up on a sofa so he could have a proper trip into his Mind Palace. Maybe if he spent a few hours lost within the confines of his mind, he would be able to figure out where to go next.

He let himself inside, closing the door behind him and removed his coat to drape over his arm. He was about to head upstairs when he noticed the light was still on in Mrs Hudson's flat and that he could hear her radio from her kitchen. Backtracking slightly, he made his way to the door and gently knocked. It was odd for Mrs Hudson to be up so late and he worried that perhaps she was affected by whatever was going on in the city outside. Sherlock waited, and then her gentle footsteps made their way to the door, and it was opening to reveal her worried face.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said with a sigh of relief, reaching out to pat him on the arm. "I was wondering when you would return home. So much has happened in such a short amount of time and I was afraid that you would have been hurt or something."

"I'm fine, Mrs Hudson. I was more concerned as to why you were up so late." Sherlock stepped in backwards so that he could adjust his hold on his jacket and see exactly what might be keeping Mrs Hudson up so late at night.

"Why don't you ever check your mobile?" she asked, crossing her arms and giving him a stern look. "John has been trying to get ahold of you for days, and there's a situation that could use your assistance."

Ignoring half of what Mrs Hudson said, Sherlock decided to explain the situation. "I've been out on a case. The city is in turmoil… Muggings, missing people. It's absolute hysteria out there," he explained, practically throwing his hands in the air.

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes. "It's happening right here, Sherlock," she said sternly, pointing the finger at his chest. "Right on your own street and you have not been here to help."

This made Sherlock falter, and he frowned. "What are you going on about, Mrs Hudson?" he questioned. "Why are you awake at three in the morning?"

"I have been worried sick about you and the woman John has brought upstairs. She's in dire need proper medical care, but she's unable to be moved right now." Mrs Hudson paused and made sure to emphasise her worry. "John's been trying to call you so that you could help."

"John is here? He's upstairs?" he asked, completely ignoring the fact that Mrs Hudson mentioned someone else could be up there. That's what happened when you were overly tired and possibly half starving.

"John is upstairs sleeping in his old bedroom, and I suggest you be quiet as you go upstairs," Mrs Hudson said. She shook her head, knowing Sherlock would probably not heed her warning. "I've been up for hours just worried sick over the entire situation."

Sherlock wasted no more time. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson," he said and then added, "Get some sleep. You look like hell." At her startled look, he merely turned away and hurried up the stairs, not even caring that he was making noise. The only thought in his mind was talking to John and seeing if he would be willing to skip a few days work at the clinic and help him in his quest to figure out what the hell was going on in London.

. . . .

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, her head aching something fierce. Vaguely, she recalled being tripped and then dragged back into the alley she'd stupidly decided to take a shortcut through. As pain flared within her chest, she also remembered being kicked multiple times, as well as her hair being pulled and her neck being choked. That explained the soreness when she swallowed. What she didn't recall was ending up on a random sofa, her wounds seemingly tended to and a warm blanket under which to lay.

Hermione had been attacked and for reasons unknown at this point, but that still didn't explain why she was here. She hoped it was just some drug addict looking for some money or belongings to score his next fix. Shifting as little as possible so as not to hurt herself, Hermione tried to discern where she was at. Squinting into the darkness, she tried to figure out her surroundings, but it was difficult. She was still in London, by the sound coming from outside. Across the room, the charred remains of a fire were visible in the grate, probably having burned out a couple hours ago.

During the attack, Hermione remembered not reaching for her wand like she usually would. There just hadn't been time. He'd used surprise to his advantage, the suddenness of the fall startling her entirely. If only she'd stuck to the main roads… Wrinkling her nose, which was sore, she recalled the stench of the man's breath as he beat her and then kicked her too. She'd tried to fight back, but it was no use. If the doctor hadn't shown up when he did, she could only imagine what would have happened.

Eyes going wide, that's when she remembered the doctor. John, she believed his name was. He'd taken down the attacker with ease, effectively breaking the injuring his leg and spraining his arm. Hermione had tried to get up, but her body wouldn't allow it. She'd been in and out of consciousness after having been strangled. John had been kind, saying she was safe and that he was a doctor who would take care of her. Right before she passed out entirely, she recalled him saying he lived nearby and asked her name. She didn't remember giving it to him before darkness overcame her mind.

Now, she was apparently in the doctor's flat, but she needed to get home. She needed to find her wand and figure out why she was attacked. Harry would worry when she didn't show up for work in the morning. In fact, he was probably already worried sick because she'd promised to text and it was hours past the time she would have arrived home. Hermione's head ached something fierce, and so did her body, but still she tried to move. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. At that moment a door was slammed shut downstairs before the sound of footsteps echoed on the staircase. Quickly, Hermione feigned sleep, still unsure about this entire situation.

Hermione turned her head away, and half covered her face with the blanket a split second before the person reached the top of the stairs. "John!" the man shouted, not bothering to be quiet in case other people were sleeping. "John! Where are you?!"

More footsteps sounded, this time coming down from the upstairs. "Shhh!" John hissed in apparent irritation. "Lower your voice, or you'll wake everyone."

"Mrs Hudson's been awake for hours, John. I saw her light on and stopped to ask her-" Still talking rather loudly, Hermione heard the man grunt as if John had smacked him on the arm or someplace else.

"Not Mrs Hudson, you dolt. Her," John explained, probably pointing to where she was 'sleeping' on the sofa.

"Who's that?" This was spoken in a mere whisper, filled with curiosity. "A client?"

"No, I rescued her from some petty criminal last night. The man was beating her in the alley across the way." John's voice was soft, full of concern. "He didn't do anything else besides that, but I think he may have taken her belongings. I couldn't find any when I brought her here to tend to her wounds."

"No identification?"

"None."

"Then who is she?"

"When I asked before she lost consciousness, she mumbled something that sounded like Harmony, but it was hard to tell." There were footsteps then as if both John and the other man crept closer to examine her a little more. Hermione tried not to cringe at the name, wishing she could just tell them who she really was, but that would force her to admit she'd been eavesdropping the entire time.

"How extensive are her injuries?" the other man asked, his footsteps moving away slightly.

"Enough that she shouldn't be transported anywhere right now. I didn't want to call an ambulance and have her lost in the system." John too walked further away. "Now, can you be quiet? She's sleeping."

The other man hummed in a way that was condescending. It was almost as if he knew something John did not and, with a start, Hermione realised he probably knew she was awake. Before she could reveal her lie, however, the man just said, "Fine. I'm going to catch a few hours sleep. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah, I'll be upstairs so I can check on her when needed." And then as an afterthought, he added, "And don't bother her. I know how you can be with new people. I'll check on her when I wake up later."

"Alight, fine. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight."

Once both their footsteps had faded away, John's upstairs and the other man's down the hall, Hermione opened her eyes and carefully rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She really needed to be leaving but moving was not the best right now. In fact, Hermione shifted in an attempt to sit up only to have pain erupt in her chest. Broken ribs were not conducive to making a quick and quiet exit. As her head gave another throb, she had to concede that with a possible concussion as well, she was going nowhere. With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed her eyes, pulled the quilt around herself, and then allowed sleep to claim her once more. She would worry about what to do next in the morning.

. . . .

For yet another hour, Sherlock paced inside his bedroom. He furiously wondered who the woman in his living room was and why she'd been attacked in the alleyway near the flat. It seemed all too coincidental that this occurred on the night he returned to 221B after having scoured the city for clues. Perhaps, he was reading more into this than there really was. There was no guarantee her attack was related to the many that were transpire all over the city.

When he knew that Mrs Hudson, John, and the woman were all fast asleep once more, Sherlock crept from his bedroom and headed to the front room. He needed to know more about this mystery woman, and that required a bit of detective work. Standing in the doorway, he watched as the woman slept soundly. Smirking, he remembered John asking him to be quiet so as not to wake the wounded woman. She'd been awake at that time, merely laying there listening to them bicker about being quiet. He was curious why she hid the fact that she was awake, but perhaps that was just fear of being in an unfamiliar place.

Stealing into the room, Sherlock headed directly for where she slept. Someone had set her jacket on the back of a chair, and so that is where he began. He picked up the coat and started examining all the pockets. Tissues and a few spare coins lined the pockets. The inside was where he went next and struck gold. In the lining of the left sleeve, Sherlock found a rather odd stick. Sliding it free, he examined the intricately carved wood. Having no idea what the object was, Sherlock replaced the jacket and backed away from the sofa.

He held it aloft in the light from the window but still had no idea what he was looking at. When the woman shifted in her sleep, Sherlock panicked and hurried across the room. He stashed the stick on the mantel until he had proper time to figure out what it was. Perhaps the woman would be able to shed some insight once she awoke in the morning. John would probably frown on his inquisition, but there was a case to solve, and Sherlock had this nagging feeling that this woman was the key. Sighing heavily, Sherlock decided he needed a few more hours of sleep. With one last look at where she still slept, Sherlock returned to his bedroom.

. . . .

A light tapping on the shoulder woke Hermione later that morning, and as she opened her eyes, she had to admit to feeling slightly better. John was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, blue eyes warm with concern. He smiled as she yawned and returned the gesture. "Morning," she mumbled before attempting to sit up. A groan left her as she remembered her possibly broken ribs.

"Whoa," John said gently, immediately reaching forward to aid her in sitting up. "Easy, now." He put one hand behind her back and then hoisted her so that her chest didn't ache as much as it would have had she tried to do this on her own. "There you go. I take it that you're not feeling any better than last night?"

"I'm conscious," she pointed out with a smirk. He laughed and then she added, "Thank you, by the way. For both helping me just now and saving my sorry arse last night in that alley. I should have been more aware of my surroundings. I knew the risk of straying from the well-lit road."

"You're welcome, and it could have happened to anyone," he replied with a shrug. "It's just lucky that I happened to be walking by when it was going on or who knows what would have happened." He visibly shuddered, and she frowned, unwilling to admit that the thought had crossed her mind as well.

"Yes, well, I owe you." She reached out and patted his knee gently which earned her another warm smile.

"I'm John, by the way. Dr John Watson," he told her then, turning to grab something on the coffee table. "I told you last night, but I wasn't sure if it registered. You were really out of it." He handed her two medicine tablets and a glass of water which she took gratefully. "And I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger, I can't really keep that sort of thing here at the flat, but I will make sure to bring you something later."

Popping the tablets into her mouth, she drank some water to wash them down and then handed the glass back to John. "Thank you. I remembered your name, but I should probably introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Not Harmony." He laughed, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure if that's what you said last night or not. Well, either way, I'm glad to meet you, even under such circumstances. Here," he muttered, returning the glass to the table and handing her a hot mug of tea instead. "I'm sure you could use this. Sorry, I don't have anything for you to eat, but Mrs Hudson said she'd bring you up a late breakfast a little later."

Hermione took the tea and held it between both hands, relishing the warmth it radiated. "This is lovely, thanks. I'm not much of a breakfast person, so that's okay. Who is Mrs Hudson?" Hermione asked canting her head in question. There was so much she needed to know now that she was awake and had someone to answer her questions.

"She's the landlady who lives in the flat downstairs," John told her standing and brushing the wrinkles out of his trousers. "She insists she's not the housekeeper, but she pops upstairs to clean and cook now and then."

"Oh," Hermione replied, finally taking a sip of the tea. She felt it beginning to warm her from the inside out and smiled. "I don't want to be a burden. I could just leave. Have you seen my purse?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't allow you to leave just yet," John said, the tone of his voice changing from concerned stranger to strict doctor in an instant. She quirked an eyebrow at the difference, but he ignored her. "You're in no condition to travel right now, and I'd like to examine you again later. Unfortunately, I have to go to work for a few hours. I should be back by five or so if we don't get too many walk-ins. And as for your purse, it seems to have been taken by your attacker."

"Do you work at a hospital?" she inquired, taking another sip of tea and not bothering to push the subject about her leaving. She was ridiculously sore and still somewhat exhausted.

"It's more of a clinic, really. My wife, Mary, works there too." He slid a hand into his pocket and then pulled out a mobile phone. "Speaking of that, I never asked; do you have someone you need to call?"

Hermione frowned. She knew he was insinuating that maybe she had a boyfriend or a husband that would be looking for her, but he was wrong. The only person who'd be looking for her was her best friend and coworker. "I am meant to be at work today, so I should probably get in touch with Harry. He's my best friend and works with me."

"Here," John said simply, handing her his mobile. "You can give him a call with that."

Biting her lip, Hermione realised it was well after the regular start time at the Ministry. While most witches and wizards these days did carry mobiles, they were unable to receive calls with all the magic at the Ministry. Texts sometimes made it through, though. "Uh, is it okay if I text? It's just that, we're not supposed to receive calls at work, and I don't want him to get in trouble."

"That's fine. Go right ahead. I'm going to run upstairs and grab a few things before I head out."

He left her then, disappearing out the door and up the stairs to where she suspected his bedroom was located. Her face crumpled in thought as she stared at the mobile. If he was married, where was Mary and why did they live with another man? Figuring it really was none of her business, she set about trying to figure out what to tell Harry so he wouldn't panic. She was already late, something entirely out of character for her, so she could only imagine what was going through his head.

 _Harry, it's Hermione. I was attacked last night walking home. Luckily, there was a doctor nearby to help me out. I'm safe at the moment but 'all' of my belongings were taken. I'm staying with the doctor until I'm healed enough to travel. If you need me, you can reach me at this number._

It was the best she could do without confusing John, who she assumed would probably read the text when she gave the mobile back later. She really couldn't say Muggle London, her wand was taken, or that she couldn't floo or apparate just yet. That would really set off alarm bells for the doctor, who would probably assume she needed a mental hospital instead. Harry was just going to have to worry a while until he could give her a proper call later.

John appeared with his jacket already on, but as she held the mobile back out to him, he shook his head. "No, you go on and keep that today. I don't really need it. The only people who really call me are Mary and Sherlock."

"Okay…" She set the mobile on her lap and then bit her lip looking around. "Uh… Is it okay if I move around a little later, I might need the loo." She wanted to ask who Sherlock was but thought that might be too forward.

"That slipped my mind, but yes. Just be really careful. I wrapped your wounds as best I could, but you need to be easy. Don't push yourself too hard." Clearing his throat, he turned and pointed down the hall, "The loo's down there. The door on the left, actually. The last door is Sherlock's room. Best not to go in there."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, remembering the voice of the man who was speaking with John earlier that morning. Craning her neck, she ignored the aching from where her attacker had tried strangling her so she could catch a glimpse of the closed door. Sherlock was a mystery to her, one she intended to solve before she left this flat.

"My former flatmate. I used to live here before I married Mary and we had Rosie. Now, I live elsewhere but still occasionally stay the night if Sherlock and I are working a case." Clearing his throat again, John glanced at his watch and made a face. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about himself once he's awake later. I do have to go, but make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Dr Watson," Hermione said sincerely, pulling her gaze from the door to smile up at him.

"Call me John, and really, it's no problem," he told her before disappearing down the stairs.

Sitting quietly, Hermione contemplated her situation for a while as she sipped the remainder of her tea. Glancing across the room, she noticed a few shelves with books and found that she might as well get up and use the loo and grab a book to read before getting comfortable on the sofa for the day. It was bound to be long and tedious, a completely different change from the usual hustle and bustle of her regular schedule. In the meantime, she could ponder more on the elusive man who was still asleep behind the door at the end of the hall.

. . . .

Harry sat at his desk, face in his hands and an ache in his heart. Sure enough, Hermione was missing. He'd just returned to the Ministry after investigating her flat. There was no disturbance and absolutely no evidence that she'd made it home last night. Whatever had happened to his long-time friend had occurred on her way home. It was an absolute mess, Harry thought. There were so many Ministry officials missing or recovering in St. Mungo's after having been attacked. With Christmas less than a week away, this was the absolute worst case scenario.

It was starting to look more and more likely that they would be working over Christmas and possibly even until the New Year with this mess. Not only did they have to interview those injured from the attacks, but they also had to locate all the missing officials. Harry was in charge of trying to figure out who was behind the entire ordeal, along with Theo who was his second in command. Theo didn't have a family, but Harry did, and he was sure his wife and children would be horribly disappointed when he wasn't home for the holidays. His top priority was bringing everyone home safely.

There was a knock on the door then, effectively pulling Harry from his morose thoughts. He attempted a smile at the sight of his wife standing there but knew he failed miserably. Sighing heavily, Ginny shut the door and walked around until she could sit in his lap. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his chest. Immediately, Harry felt some of the day's tension leave his body. Ginny always knew how to comfort him when he needed it the most.

"I take it that things are not going well with the case," Ginny said sadly. Cupping her husband's cheek, she tried to give him a reassuring smile. "The Prophet office is going crazy right now. They're all working on articles about the attacks, missing officials, and what the cause could be."

Harry sighed and covered Ginny's hand with his own, holding it close. "I can only imagine. We've been fielding reporters all morning," he explained with a frown. "Kingsley has sworn us all to secrecy until we know more information."

"I may work for the paper, but that doesn't mean I agree with their antics." Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes. "Even the sports editor wants an in. He asked me to come and wheedle out a story from you. I told him a not so decent place to shove his wand."

Harry laughed and relaxed slightly. "He knows better than to try that with you."

"He should," Ginny agreed, and then a sly smirk slid onto her features. "Or he will after he tried to drink his morning detox potion."

"What did you do?" Harry asked in a tone almost near scolding. He wasn't upset with his wife, but she did enjoy her job and would be sorely disappointed if she lost it.

"Nothing, dear husband. He may just need to spend a bit more time in the loo than normal this afternoon…" Ginny trailed off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But enough about that," she said changing the topic. "Tell me about Hermione. Have you learned anything?"

"Nothing helpful," Harry grumbled, rubbing at his face with one hand. It knocked his glasses askew, so he righted them and carried on. "We examined her flat and found no trace that she made it home, so we know she was abducted before that."

"Poor Hermione…" Ginny trailed off, biting at her lip in worry. "You don't think she's-"

"I don't even want to think about that yet, Gin," Harry interrupted. "I knew I should have walked her home last night despite her insisting she would be okay."

"You couldn't have known this would happen," Ginny said, trying to calm her husband and take some of his guilt away. "How was anyone supposed to know there would be a Dark uprising?"

"Dark uprising? Is that what they're calling it at the Prophet?" Harry inquired, his face grim but knowing that this situation was exactly that. He hadn't let on yet because he and Theo were still hammering out the details, but it appeared that all attacked or abducted were either half-blood or muggleborn.

"That's what I saw being printed on the cover for this afternoon's special edition," Ginny explained as she finally crawled out of Harry lap. Beginning to pace, she tried to verbalise her feelings. "I know this is your job, but Voldemort is long gone. We don't have to worry about him being back do we?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "This isn't him. It's just some ass hole sympathiser of his coming out of the woodwork to make all of our lives miserable."

"It's been twenty years, Harry," she murmured, terror palpable in every word. "I can't imagine what life would be like if a new Dark wizard would rise to power."

"It would be unspeakable," Harry conceded after sitting there silent for a moment. Ginny stopped pacing at his words. Standing, he moved and pulled her into an embrace. "So many of us already suffer from PTSD, I'm not sure if anyone would be willing to fight like we did back then. We have families and jobs."

"Basically this entire thing has made us all realise that we're not as safe as we thought we were," Ginny said honestly. "I'm sure the Prophet is going to have an insipid amount of fun reminding the public of the past and planting seeds of doubt that the Ministry can handle this sort of attack."

"You're probably right," Harry told her and then dropped a kiss to her forehead. "We'll manage somehow. Right now we have to find a starting point. What brought this on and why?"

Ginny was about to reply when Harry's mobile went off in his robe pocket. They both jumped at the sound, the terror of the entire situation making them uneasy. Harry hurriedly dug the mobile out of his pocket, his eyes going wide and making Ginny reach for his arm.

"Who is it?" she asked, hoping for the best but not sure if she should allow herself that hope.

"It's an unknown number but-"

"But what?" Ginny persisted, practically shaking Harry in an attempt to get him to answer.

"They say it's Hermione," Harry said, his face crumpling into a frown. He read the message a couple of times and then sighed.

"What's the problem? What did she say?" Ginny was confused by her husband's hesitation.

"What if it's not her? What if it's from whoever is behind all of this?" Harry asked, sweeping his hand wide in an indication of the chaos around them.

"I'm sure it is…" Ginny trailed off, wishing it was Hermione but knowing that with the Wizarding world accepting Muggle technology, it could very well be someone else.

"I have to be sure, but I'll need Theo's help." Harry pocketed the mobile and then swept ginny in for a quick peck on the lips. "I'm glad you stopped by. I really needed to see your face."

Ginny blushed but smiled nonetheless. "You're precious. I'll leave you to it. Be safe and come home when you can. Christmas is just days away, you know."

"I know," Harry said with a sigh. "I'll do my best to be there for you. I know you have wrapping and everything else to get finished before the holiday."

"I do, but you find Hermione and figure this out," Ginny said as she headed for the door. "Mum is at the house with the kids, and I'm going to pop out to the store in Diagon Alley. I figure it's best to get the shopping done in broad daylight."

"Definitely," Harry agreed. "I don't want you or the kids leaving the house after dark. I'll try to come home for supper tonight."

"Do what you can, but we'll be alright," Ginny told her husband with one last look over her shoulder. "I love you."

"Love you too," Hary called after his wife before beginning to gather some papers and files from his desk. He really hoped they could get this figured out so he could go home to his family.

Once he had everything he needed, Harry rushed from the office, intent upon finding Theo. Theo was brilliant at Muggle technology even though he grew up as a Pureblood. He was the best in the MLE and Auror departments when it came to Muggle tech, and his expertise would come in handy now. If anyone figured out if this text from Hermione was a fake, it would be him.

. . . .

It was well past one when Sherlock finally appeared. Hermione heard him before she saw him, his door quickly opening, followed by the shuffling of feet as he made his way into the kitchen. Resting the book she'd been engrossed in upon her lap, Hermione waited patiently for a glimpse of the man. Mrs Hudson had brought up lunch a little while ago, spending some time with Hermione before disappearing back downstairs. She seemed kind enough, a bit nosy, but definitely kind-hearted. Now, Sherlock, he was the one Hermione was most interested in getting to know at 221B.

Random sounds echoed from the kitchen as he prepared himself some tea and then, finally, there he was. Hermione's eyes went wide seeing him wrapped in nothing but a white sheet from head to toe. He made no sign of noticing her where she sat still as a statue. Sherlock shuffled his way to a well-worn leather chair by the fireplace and curled up to thoughtfully sip his tea. A grin tugged at her lips knowing she was about to disrupt him from whatever thoughts held him so captivated.

"You must be Sherlock," she said simply, enjoying the way he stopped mid-sip to turn and stare at her with curious, narrowed eyes. "John told me that this was your flat." When still Sherlock did not swallow his tea or make an effort to speak, her grin widened. "I'm Hermione," she prompted, hoping he would get the point and finally respond to her commentary.

Something must have clicked in his head because he swallowed his mouthful of tea and set aside the mug. Slowly, Sherlock unfurled himself from the chair and walked toward her, his hands gripping his sheet tightly as if to keep it from falling from his obviously naked body. He stopped once he stood just on the other side of the coffee table, his sea-coloured eyes examining her as if she were a specimen on the microscope she noticed he kept on the kitchen table. Although she was not the one wearing little to nothing, Hermione suddenly felt entirely exposed under his scrutiny.

"Do you often walk around in nothing but a sheet?" she inquired, earning herself a sniff in response. It made her smirk, but she refused to break their stare.

"Sometimes I wear a dressing gown," Sherlock informed her, promptly stepping onto the coffee table and then off of it to sit at the other end of the sofa. She gave him a disgruntled look when she was forced to move her feet, but he ignored it to gesture at her with one hand. "Do you often spend the night on stranger's couches?"

Though she knew he meant it innocently enough, it still caused her to blanch. "Uh, no… Normally, I make it home in time to sleep in my own bed." Biting back a rude retort, she tried again. "I take it you wish I weren't here, then?"

He gave her a once over again, his eyes lingering on the cut under her eye, the bruises around her neck, and the way she held her chest stiff to keep it from aching as she sat propped against the arm of the couch. "John felt you were not well enough to be taken to the hospital. I trust his judgement. You may stay as long as you may need." He stood abruptly and turned away, forgetting about his tea. Pausing halfway to his bedroom, he swiftly turned and gave her a curious glare. "Just stay out of my way. I have important work to do for my case, and I do not like to be interrupted."

As Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise, Sherlock whirled back around and then vanished into his bedroom once more. She certainly hadn't been expecting that kind of response from John's friend. Sure, he had seemed a bit stiff and inquisitive in the middle of the night, but certainly not rude. Frowning, she glanced back at the book in her lap, suddenly wondering if when Harry finally called she wouldn't ask if he could get a cab to rescue her from this place. Apparently, Sherlock didn't want her in his flat, and she honestly had no idea why.

. . . .

"It could take me about twenty-four hours, mate," Theo said with a frown. He stared at the mobile on his desk and then back up at his friend and colleague. "We're all worried about Hermione, but I don't have much extra time to fiddle around with satellites and all that. Kingsley has me scouring the Muggle internet forums for possible leads, and I'm also taking on Hermione's caseload."

Harry sighed and then lowered himself into the chair across from Theo's desk. "I'm well aware, Theo," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think that the cases Hermione and the MLE department were working on should be put on hold for the time being."

"You're going to have to get Kingsley's approval on that one," Theo pointed out, playfully spinning the mobile. When it stopped, said, "We'd have to be at Danger Level Orange for him to even consider it."

"I can't believe he hasn't raised that yet. We're sitting at yellow," Harry groused, irritated that despite the severity of the situation, the Wizarding world was still so open to danger.

"You know why," Theo said, relaxing in his chair. "If we move to Orange then we're no longer able to go out and search for the missing. Which means-"

"Which means Hermione would be stuck where she is if she's even…" Harry cut himself off, swallowing back his emotions and trying to stay positive. Hermione was alive. That text was definitely from her, he just had to prove it. Clearing his throat, he sat up a bit straighter. "Look, if I take a few of the cases, can you devote some time to figuring this out?"

Theo stared at Harry for a long moment, contemplating his answer. He knew the wizard meant well, and he was a damn good Auror, but sometimes his personal attachments could get in the way. If Theo said no, Harry would probably just go and do it anyway. Running a hand through his hair, Theo sighed and then sent Harry a smile.

"Alright," he relented. "I'll give you a few of the cases." Shuffling through the files on his desk, Theo handed Harry a handful and then sat back in his chair again. "Kingsley is going to have a hippogriff when he finds out what we're doing, you know?"

"I'll take the heat, Theo." Harry held the files aloft and gave Theo a grin. "Thanks for this, mate. Let me know when you have the results."

"You got it," Theo responded with a nod, dropping his hand to pick up the mobile.

"And Theo?" Harry added, stopping in the doorway.

"What's up?"

"Be careful out there."

The two shared a meaningful look, and then Theo nodded once more. Satisfied, Harry left the office, intent on finishing Hermione's cases and then trying to figure out who was behind the attacks. There was much to do, and he wouldn't rest until this case was solved.

. . . .

John came home before Harry called, meaning she still hadn't been able to make a plan of escape. She'd spent the afternoon sitting on the couch reading through a few books and listening for signs of movement from Sherlock's room. There were a few times she heard thumps or shuffling, but other than that, she'd been left entirely alone. The silence was starting to grate on her nerves, so she was thankful for the company once more.

"Hey," John called out as he dumped a few bags of groceries on the table in the kitchen after shoving Sherlock's mess aside. "I grabbed a few things to make dinner. How are you feeling?" He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked into the living room, his face pink from the cold but still holding a smile.

"I'm feeling okay. Still really sore, but I can breathe a little easier since this morning," she informed him, setting aside the book she'd been reading. She would have been feeling a lot better if she had access to her wand, but after checking the sleeve of her jacket, she was disappointed to find that her attacker really had taken everything she had on her. Frowning, she looked at her lap. "Actually, I'm hoping my friend calls soon and can come and get me."

"What?" John asked, sitting down on the sofa. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I feel like I'm putting you out… I know you don't typically live here and I'm not sure I'm really welcome…" She glanced briefly at Sherlock's closed door and then back at John, who frowned.

John twisted around to stare at Sherlock's door too before glancing back at her. "Did Sherlock say something to you?" He sounded concerned, and a bit annoyed if she was honest.

"Well, he told me to stay out of his way," she admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's not like I'm really in the way stuck here on the sofa. It's okay, though, Harry will come and get me if I ask."

"Absolutely not," John replied, jumping to his feet and already marching toward the back bedroom. "You're welcome here for as long as you need to heal. You're not going anywhere until those ribs of yours have healed enough to walk up and down stairs. Just give me a minute. I'll be right back, and then I'll make you some dinner."

Hermione didn't have time to say anything in reply before he was pounding on Sherlock's door. She tried to peek and see what was happening as the door cracked open, but John forced his way inside and slammed it shut. Hermione blinked in surprise as the shouting started, mostly John, but she could hear Sherlock's baritone interjecting now and then. This went on for nearly ten minutes, all while Hermione sat idly on the couch, feeling more embarrassed than before. She didn't want to cause a rift between the two friends, especially since she could easily have Harry come and heal her enough to take her home.

She couldn't admit that to John and Sherlock, though, not without violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Instead, she sat there awkwardly until John came back out, slamming the door again. He briskly made his way back into the living room, pausing to smile down at her on the couch. Clapping both his hands together, he smiled. "Right, then," he began, "I'm going to make dinner, and then we'll check your bandages and give you some real pain medicine."

"Okay," was all she could manage in response before he was turning and heading back to the kitchen. The entire exchange had taken less than five minutes, but it left Hermione feeling more confused and uncomfortable than before. She really didn't want to impose but what was she to do?

There was no more noise from Sherlock's room that evening, but when she woke sometime in the middle of the night to use the loo, she found the bedroom door wide open. Looking back and forth briefly to make sure she was alone, she snuck a peek into the room to see it empty as well. Where was Sherlock and why was he so against having her in the flat? Whatever the reason, Hermione was confident that it wouldn't matter for much longer anyway. Surely, Harry would get back to her in the morning and then she could be free of this place. After that, Sherlock could go back to having the flat to himself.

. . .


	3. 22 December

**Author's Note:** I'm glad you're all enjoying this so far. I hope everyone is having a great weekend! Enjoy!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **22 December 2018**

Theo spent the entirety of his afternoon, evening, and well into the early hours of the morning working on triangulating whether or not the text Harry showed him was from Hermione. When he finally found where her mobile last pinged, he set off to figure out if it was a trap or not. Arriving in the alleyway, Theo glanced around in search of what might have happened to Hermione. He could tell there had been an altercation seeing as the few rubbish bins there were strewn about.

Sticking to the shadows, Theo pulled out his little notebook and read over his notes. The mobile was registered to a Doctor John Watson. His home address was listed quite a few blocks from here, but Theo was nothing but thorough. Using the internet to his advantage, he discovered that this Watson fellow often worked alongside Sherlock Holmes. The Consulting Detective, as he was described on the web, did, in fact, live nearby.

Now, Theo just had to determine whether or not this Holmes fellow was working against the Ministry and using Hermione as his pawn or if he was just an innocent bystander in all of this. Placing a Glamour charm on himself, Theo stepped out of the alleyway and headed for 221B. Striding up to the door, he used the knocker to call the attention of whoever was inside. It only took a moment before a middle-aged woman in a purple house dress answered.

"Good day, ma'am. I am Arthur Finnegan." He tipped his head and the straightened up right once more. "Would you mind if I inspected your building for signs of mould?" The woman gave him a strange look and then placed her self securely in the doorway. Clearly, Theo had underestimated how easy it would be to obtain entry to the building.

"I'm sorry, sir, but my building does not need to be inspected the woman told him sternly. In fact, it was fun last spring. Thank you. I hope you have a great day.

Theo wasn't surprised when the woman took a step backwards and then shut the door in his face without waiting for him to reply. It was a long shot, his cover story, but he had to give it a try. Besides, it was really early, probably earlier than was normal for people to come to inspect houses and such. Nevertheless, Theo decided to do what he could, and so he closed his eyes and reached out with his own magic to try and see if there was another magical being in the vicinity.

He was relieved to find out there was, in fact, only one magical core close by and that it felt familiar to him. He guessed that it was Hermione and that she was resting somewhere in this building safe and sound and free from harm. He couldn't sense any dark beings or the like. Part of what made Theo such a crucial role in the MLE and Auror departments was because of his magical sixth sense as many called it. It was like a type of divination but a little further in-depth.

The sense allowed Theo to gauge whether people were good or bad and locate specific magical entities. Satisfied, Theo smiled and backed away from the flat building. He made his way back down the street and chose a different alleyway to disappear into. Once there, he removed the glamour charm and apparated back to the Ministry. Harry would be waiting, and he needed to assure his friend that Hermione was safe and that he could contact her at that number.

It only took him a few minutes to locate Harry in the cafeteria where he could generally be found purchasing some coffee to start the day. Only, he wasn't just starting his day, he was continuing it. They all were. Striding up to his dark-haired friend, he patted him on the shoulder and waited for the wizard to turn around. When Harry turned to face him, he could see that he hadn't slept at all and the worry lines on his face were far more profound than they'd been the previous day.

"Here you go," Theo said, handing over the mobile phone. "I just came from where I believe Hermione is being kept. It appears she's safe."

Harry took the phone and stared it almost in disbelief. "Are you sure she's safe and not being used as a way to lure us into a false sense of hope?" Harry inquired, his anxious side outweighing everything at this point.

"Absolutely," Theo told him, placing a hand over his heart. "I could sense there were good people in that building. 221B Baker Street is where she's being kept when you want to go and retrieve her."

"Do you think we should go and get her now?" Harry had thumb smoothing over the surface of his mobile screen.

"No," Theo said honestly. "I think you should leave her there if she's severely injured. Whoever attacked her left her behind and probably has no idea where she is. If we let her stay there, we can solve this case without having to worry about her safety."

"You're probably right," Harry said, sweeping the mobile to life. There wasn't much of a charge left on it after everything that Theo had done with it the night before, but there was definitely enough to send a message through to Hermione. "I'm going to text her so that she knows I'm here for her but that I think she should stay where she is for the time being until we figure this out."

"That's honestly probably what's best." Theo ran a hand through his hair and tried not to yawn. He was exhausted from not having slept the night before. "Look, I'm going to go home and see Blaise for a couple hours and maybe grab a nap. I'll be back after lunch to jump right back into things. Is that okay?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling him in for a quick hug. After he released him, he added, "I can't thank you enough for this, you know? I was terrified that they had Hermione and were going to use her against us."

"To be honest, I wouldn't put it past whoever is in charge of this disaster." He looked around the canteen, his eyes lingering on the different people there. He could sense all of their emotions and everything about them, but it was difficult to decipher it all. "I have a bad feeling about all this, but I know we'll make it through just like we always have."

"It's a lot different now than it was twenty years ago," Harry said quietly watching his friend observe the multitude of witches and wizards scattered around them.

"That's true," Theo said, "but there's always going to be those out there who think that their blood is purer than the others and that makes them better than the rest of the community."

"I hear you," Harry replied somberly. "We'll figure this out."

"Alright, I'll see you later. Make sure to let Ginny know that Hermione is safe."

"I will."

Theo left the cafeteria, thankful that they knew where Hermione was, but he still felt uneasy about the entire situation. Who was causing the rift in The Wizarding World this time? As he neared the floo corridor, Theo tried to push work and everything else to the back of his mind, if only for a little while. He wanted nothing more than to see his husband and make sure that he was safe. Plus Blaise always knew how to make him feel better in the worst situation, and that's precisely what he needed right now to get his nerves under control. He would be useless to the cause if he didn't get himself relaxed and some sleep too. Scooping up some floo powder, he threw it into the closest grate and disappeared back home.

. . . .

Morning came, and with it, the realisation that Christmas was only a few days away. When Hermione opened her eyes, it was to find Mrs Hudson decorating a Christmas tree against the wall between the door and the kitchen. The lights and most of the bulbs were already making the branches look festive and charming. Before alerting the landlady to her awakeness, Hermione glanced around to make sure no one else was present, specifically Sherlock. They were alone, so Hermione struggled into a sitting position and greeted the landlady.

"Good morning, Mrs Hudson," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. She was feeling a little worse for wear, two nights sleeping on a sofa was not exactly conducive to healing.

Upon hearing her voice, Mrs Hudson turned around with a candy cane in her hand and a warm smile on her face. "Good morning, dear. I hope I didn't wake you."

Finally comfortable, Hermione shook her head. "No, it wasn't you. I don't typically sleep this much as it is. I didn't even know you were here. The tree looks beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you, dear. Sherlock can't be bothered to decorate for the holiday, so I took matters into my own hands. We don't usually have guests for Christmas," she told her as she hung the candy cane on a bare branch. Stepping back, Mrs Hudson admired her work and then wandered into the kitchen. She began making tea but kept up the conversation. "John mentioned that you would probably need to stay at least until the end of the week."

"He did?" Hermione asked, shocked by this news. He hadn't mentioned it to her. She was under the impression that she could leave as soon as she was able to move without cringing in agony. It was true she wasn't there yet, but it was getting better. "Was he here this morning?"

"He was, "Mrs Hudson answered, bringing her a cup of tea and then returning to the tree. "He checked you over and said to tell you to check the mobile when you woke up." She pointed to where it sat on the coffee table.

Frowning, Hermione reached for the device and saw there was a text message reply from Harry finally. She quickly opened it and began to read, her frown deepening with every word…

 _Hermione, I'm glad to hear you're safe. Things are a bit… hectic… right now at work. Everyone is all hands on deck but we're glad you're someplace safe. It might be a good idea for you to stay where you are, if you're able to. I'll call when everything settles down. Talk to you soon._

Whatever was going on at the Ministry must be severe enough that Harry would to insist she stay away. Perhaps it was related to her attacker? Heart beating frantically, she set aside the mobile and reached for the tea instead. She needed something to calm her nerves and ease her mind. Tea was as close as she was going to get right now, it seemed. Sipping the drink, she watched as Mrs Hudson resumed decorating the tree.

"So it looks like I'm going to be here for Christmas," Hermione said quietly, her heart sinking as she thought about the unwelcome way Sherlock had made her feel just yesterday. She bit her lip and set the mug in her lap. "I hope that's okay." She peered up through her eyelashes to find Mrs Hudson staring at her.

Mrs Hudson sighed heavily and then came to sit by her, one hand moving to rest on her knee. "Don't you worry, Hermione. You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need." The kind way Mrs Hudson was looking at her made tears spring to her eyes and the landlady quickly handed her a clean tissue from the pocket of her dress. "Don't you fret. Whatever is happening will blow over, and don't you mind Sherlock either."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, dabbing at her eyes and nose.

"Yes, he's always a little testy at the holidays but don't let him get to you." She frowned then and crossed her arms. "I really should call his mother about the way he treated you. John told me everything, of course. But don't you worry, we're going to make the flat up for Christmas and help you get back on your feet."

Hermione really didn't know what else to say for the moment, so she merely nodded and thanked Mrs Hudson for being so kind. They spent the rest of the morning chatting while the tree was finished and other decorations were added to the room. By the time Sherlock appeared at the door, eyes narrowed at his landlady, Hermione was feeling much better. She met his gaze when he glanced her way and attempted a smile, but it was not returned. Instead, he turned and again vanished into his room, leaving her to wonder if she was genuinely welcome at all.

. . . .

After being scolded by John about the way he treated Hermione, Sherlock found himself spending more time in his room than out in the living area. He tried to time his visits to the kitchen and loo for when Hermione was sleep or distracted by Mrs Hudson or John. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do so, however, the longer he thought about the mystery of her arrival.

There was just too much coincidence for it to be a pure accident that she walked in that alleyway and was attacked that night. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to solve this case so he could move on to another and possibly even give the woman a reason to leave. John had been more than a bit angry when he suggested they take her to the closest hospital and just leave her there until she could be picked up by her family or friends. It's not that her presence honestly bothered him, but the fact that he knew she was keeping something from them about who she really was.

He thought about that wooden object he'd procured from her jacket the night of her arrival. She hadn't asked about it, but Sherlock could tell that she'd moved her coat at some point and replaced it on the chair. He hadn't yet told John about his findings, knowing that his friend would reprimand him for going through her belongings and then keeping it from her. It may be valuable, but Sherlock knew there was more to it than that. Just like Hermione. There was indeed more to her than meets the eye.

She was in her late thirties, single, and childless. From the few times, he'd had the opportunity to observe her, he deduced that she was never married, was typically more inclined to her job (whatever that may be), and that she lived alone. If he had to garner a guess, he suspected she worked in some sort of government office by the excellent state of her attire. One does not wear a suit and fancy robe unless they work for the government or law. She seemed a bit too honest to be a lawyer, so she had to work for the government. If only her purse had been recovered. Surely her identification and other personal items would help.

Groaning, Sherlock moved away from where he stood staring out his bedroom window to sit on the edge of the bed. He blatantly ignored the fairy lights that Mrs Hudson has strewn up around the room. He was already irritated enough as it was, he didn't need reminding that Christmas was just around the corner. John sent him a text earlier stating that Hermione would be staying until at least after the holiday and that he should allow her to feel comfortable because she was bound to be missing her family and friends.

Sherlock hadn't pried, but he found it odd that she was staying there rather than being retrieved before the holiday. Why would she choose to spend the holiday with strangers rather than go home? Glancing at the closed door, he suspected it had something to do with her attack, but the only way to find out more about the woman and this strange situation they were in was to talk to her. After having been so rude as John told him, he suspected she wouldn't be as willing to have a conversation with him.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock knew that he could be rather blunt at times. Typically, John would be there to reel him in, but he'd been alone during that first proper conversation with Hermione. It would probably take some sort of apology or the like to get her to forgive him. Annoying. It was only mid-afternoon now, and luckily, Mrs Hudson had finished decorating and returned to her own flat. Hermione was probably napping. Now was the time Sherlock needed to slip unnoticed from the flat to do some more investigating for the case.

Standing, he reached for his coat and slipped it on while continuing to ponder what to do next. He hated that Hermione was always on his mind, but there was nothing to do about it. She was a mystery to be solved, and Sherlock would do his best. If she continued to keep secrets, Sherlock would just need to get clever. Eventually, she would break, he thought. Being apart from one's loved ones was typically a trigger for emotional people, and he suspected Hermione was just that. A couple more days separated and she would be as easy to read like an open book.

Adding his scarf, Sherlock opened his door and quietly made his way to the stairs. Sure enough, the quiet snores of the woman could be heard from the front room. Easing open the door at the end of the hall, he observed Hermione for a moment as she slept on the sofa. Her bruised face seemed so gentle and relaxed in her sleep, her hand clutching at the blanket she had overtop of her frail body. Something pulled at his heart, and he didn't know why. Swallowing back the insipid emotions, Sherlock vowed to try and make right how he wronged her and then left the flat.

. . . .

"If we know where she is, then I don't see why we can't just go and get her!" Ron practically shouted, slamming his fist down on the dinner table.

Across from where Harry sat, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Come on, Ron. Listen to reason."

"She's been attacked!" Ron continued to rant, now running both hands through his hair in frustration. "She's hurt and alone, and it's practically Christmas!"

"I swear to Salazar, brother, if you wake the kids, I am going to murder you," Ginny hissed, reaching for her wand on the table.

Luckily, Harry grabbed hold of it before she could. Clearing his throat, he tried to mediate before things got too heated. "Look," he began, giving Ginny a look when she tried to reach for her wand. "That's exactly why we need to leave her where she is. Whoever is leading these attacks is more dangerous than we know. Bringing her back now would only cause her stress."

"She's going to want to jump right back into the fray," Ginny pointed out, crossing her arms and glaring at Ron. "You know how she is. She's going to want to try and stop it even if it kills her."

"We don't know the extent of her injuries," Harry continued, giving Ron a meaningful look. "But we do know she is staying where she has access to a doctor. Besides, she's essentially off the map which gives us an advantage."

"What if whoever attacked her is still lurking around there?" Ron questioned, relaxing a bit despite hating the fact that one of his best friends was hurt and not there with them.

"Theo's hacked the CCTV and is keeping track of the area. If anyone suspicious tries to get near 221B, we'll know it," Harry explained. He took a deep breath and then said, "And he also added a few undetectable protection spells to the flat."

"As long as Hermione stays inside that building, she'll be fine," Ginny said, snatching her wand before Harry could stop her. Pointing it at her brother, she added, "And don't you dare go there. If any of us are seen by the attacker, then her safety will be compromised."

"I don't see you working for the Ministry," Ron snapped in irritation.

"You don't work there either, Ronald," she snapped right back, standing and grabbing his empty dinner plate. "You left to work with George so just let Harry, Theo, Kingsley, and the rest of the department do their jobs."

"How can you just sit here knowing she's not going to be with us for Christmas?" Ron asked, looking more than a bit put out by his sister's comment.

Sighing, Ginny sat the plate back down and placed her hand comfortingly on her brother's shoulder. "I miss her too, but I really want her to be safe. After this mess is taken care of, we'll celebrate with her. Besides, we still have a few days. They might solve it before then."

"I know I don't have much of a say here," Pansy piped up from where she'd been sitting silently observing the argument. "But I have to agree with Harry and Ginny, love."

"You're my wife," Ron complained, giving Pansy a look of pure exasperation. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"Really?" she replied dryly. "I'm not allowed my own opinion?" When Ron stuttered, she held up a hand but smiled at her husband. "Look, I adore your face, but when you're wrong, you're wrong."

Ginny sniggered which caused Harry to smile and Ron to glare. "You know that's not what I meant." When Pansy merely quirked an eyebrow, he sighed heavily and tried again. "Alright fine. Maybe I am wrong, but it still sucks."

"Of course it does," Pansy said folding her arms across her chest. "We all want our friend home safe, but sometimes we're safer someplace else. I have no idea who is behind the attacks, but there are still some pretty dangerous Pureblood enthusiasts out there. The Ministry will get them in good time."

"Thank you, Pansy," Harry told the witch. "She's right, Ron. This is a dangerous time. We have to be careful. All of us," he added, meeting everyone's eyes and then standing from the table. "It's getting late, and I have to be back at the Ministry before dawn. You mind if we call it a night?"

"Not at all," Pansy replied getting up from the table and moving to stand next to Ron. "Come on, love. Let's go home."

"Alright, alright," Ron conceded. He too stood, wrapping his arm around his wife and kissing her on top of her head. "I just worry about Hermione. I'll try to relax, but I'm going to need you to keep me posted, so I don't lose my mind."

"I can do that," Harry told his best friend, clapping him on the back. "You two be safe getting home."

"We will," Pansy said. She hugged Ginny once and then grabbed Ron's hand. "Let's go rescue my mum from the kids, shall we?"

"Can't they stay the night?" Ron suggested as they headed toward the door.

"I like the way you think," Pansy replied, shooting a saucy wink at Harry and Ginny as they exited the house.

"Those two still act like newlyweds," Harry pointed out, helping Ginny clear the remaining dishes from the table. He followed his own wife into the kitchen and loaded the sink.

"I'm glad for it. Pansy is good for my brother." Ginny waved her wand, and the dishes began to wash themselves.

"She is… I just wish Hermione had someone too." He frowned, unsure why he thought to say that right now. "Sorry, I don't know why I said that."

As if sensing his thoughts, Ginny curled herself into his chest and relished the warmth of his arms as they wrapped around her. "It's because you worry about her. If she had someone then maybe she might not have been attacked… We'll never know, of course, but I had the same thoughts."

"I hate that she has to stay there."

"I hate it too," Ginny said, leaning back to look up into Harry's face. "There's nothing to do about it tonight though. Let's call it an early night, okay?"

"I like the sound of that." Harry kissed the tip of her nose and then lead the way upstairs. Tomorrow he would jump back into the case, but tonight he would relax in the comfort of his wife's arms. He only wished Hermione was feeling comfortable and safe too.

. . . .

"John?"

"Yeah?" the doctor asked, glancing up from the newspaper he was reading. He was sitting in the red chair by the fireplace, one foot slowly rocking the baby carrier his daughter, Rosie, was resting in on the floor.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her lifeless curls. She was in desperate need of a shower, or a bath, which she noticed was the only option in the loo. "Do you think that you'd help me get into the bath?" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, hating that she had to ask for help with something so simple. Only, she knew she'd never been able to get into the old-fashioned bathtub on her own right now. Her broken ribs were still giving her trouble, but there was no way she could go another day without bathing. "I was going to ask Mary earlier, but she didn't stay."

"Oh…" John looked slightly embarrassed as well, but then his doctor instinct kicked in, and his face resumed its natural calm. He cleared his throat and stood from the chair to set the paper on the side table. He gave the sleeping Rosie a quick glance before making his way over to where she was still stuck on the sofa. "Sure, that's not a problem. It never even occurred to me that you might want to clean yourself up a bit."

"I'm well enough right? I just can't stand another day like this," she told him, pointing at her dirty hair. "I'm used to taking a shower every day at home."

"I'm sorry, and yeah, let's ease you up." He helped her to stand, although she'd become used to doing so on her own. He led her to the bathroom and then they both stood there awkwardly. "So how do you want to do this?" he asked finally, not quite meeting her eyes.

"How about you turn around while I take off my clothes? Then I can stand in the tub wrapped in a towel," she offered, biting at her lip as she tried to keep her cheeks from colouring again.

"Right. Then I'll just help you to sit, and you can run the water and do whatever you need to." John grabbed for a towel, again not looking her in the eye. This was way more awkward than she was hoping for, but they were both adults, and he was a doctor. He'd examined her two days ago while she was unconscious. Sure, she wasn't entirely nude, but he must have seen her chest at some point.

"That works for me," she replied quietly, accepting the towel and waiting for him to turn around. She undressed carefully, setting her button-up shirt, dress pants, and undergarments on the counter before wrapping the towel around her. "Ready."

John turned around and then they began the difficult task of getting her in the bathtub. It took more effort than they thought and was a tad more painful than she'd hoped. By the time she was settled, her chest had ached, and she was breathing heavily. "Are you alright?" he asked, giving her a worried look.

"I'll be okay. The hot water will help, I hope," she said, not entirely wanting to admit how much pain she was currently experiencing.

John exhaled slowly and then looked around the bathroom. "I'm going to take your clothes to get washed. I have a few of Mary's things upstairs that should fit you." He made for the door, grabbing the handle so he could close it for her privacy.

"Thank you," she muttered, causing him to stop and give her a smile.

"You're welcome, Hermione. Just give a shout when you're ready to get out." And then he left her, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hermione set about getting the water in the tub. She took care of her hair first, knowing that would take most of her energy. When that was taken care of, she quickly washed the rest of her body and then settled back to just relax in the warm water. Closing her eyes, she thought about her strange predicament and wondered what was happening in the Wizarding world. She was so relaxed that she didn't even hear the door open at first. It wasn't until she heard the scuff of a shoe and an intake of breath that her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at the startled face of Sherlock.

She blinked at him once, then twice before he finally averted his gaze. "I apologise, Ms Granger," he mumbled, already backing toward the door. Apparently, he hadn't known there was anyone in the bathroom, or he was too distracted to notice. Having already been off to a rough start, Hermione wanted desperately to try and rectify that.

"Please," she said, stopping him from leaving. "You can call me Hermione." She wasn't worried about him seeing her naked, the water full of bubbles from when she'd shampooed her hair covered all of her parts. He still seemed so uncomfortable as he looked briefly at the door and then back to her. His hand dropped from where it held the doorknob as he apparently decided to stay for a moment.

"I am sorry then, Hermione. I did not know that the bathroom was occupied. I'll leave you to finish your bath," he informed her with a single nod. This time, he met her eyes, and his own were not unkind as they previously were when speaking with her. Actually, this was the first time she'd seen him for longer than a minute since that first encounter. He'd been scarce, obviously coming and going when she was asleep.

"It's okay. I probably should be getting out anyway before my skin gets all wrinkly." She made a face and then laughed but stopped short as her chest gave a pain. She moved one hand to rest over it, the water sloshing slightly,

"You should be careful," Sherlock warned, taking a step toward the bath as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Your fractured ribs are still fragile right now. Do you need help getting out of the bath?" He stopped by the edge of the tub, his head turning to search for what, she did not know.

"Well, actually, John said that he would come and get me when I needed out," she began to explain, but Sherlock quickly cut her off.

"John's feeding Rosie and she's fussy," he stated simply and then stormed from the room. Hermione sat there in shock again, blinking stupidly as she wondered where he had gone and if she should call for John, after all. Before she could, however, Sherlock returned with the clothes John had promised and set them on the counter. Turning his back to her, he snapped, "Let the water out, dry off, and then wrap yourself in the towel. I'll help you from the bath. I've already let John know."

Hermione snorted in disbelief. Was he serious? When she heard him sigh in agitation, she got to work, removing the stopper and waiting for the water to drain. It took longer than she wished, but when it was gone, she quickly dried off, trying not to irritate her injuries. After wrapping herself so that not a single indecent part of her was showing, she exhaled and informed Sherlock she was ready. He turned around quickly and inspected her and the bathtub as if calculating the best way to get her from inside. Muttering, more to himself than her, he said, "It's the only way…"

Then he swooped forward, leaned over, and slid one arm under her bent knees before sliding the other behind her arms. Before she could ask what he was doing, he was lifting her from the tub as if she were his newly wedded wife. She let out a little yelp, but he told her to relax. She did, and it made the transition much more manageable. Once free of the tub, he helped to settle her on her feet and swiftly turned away from her once more. "Go on and get dressed. I will take you into my room so you can sleep on a proper bed tonight. You'll never heal properly if you continue to sleep on that lumpy, old sofa."

"What?" Hermione asked, her hand pausing as she reached for the lounge pants and t-shirt John found for her to wear. "I can't sleep in your bed."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Sherlock said as he sighed in irritation. "Of course you can. Now, do hurry up. You've moved around far more than you ought to this evening. You need to relax, or those fractured ribs will never heal."

Staring at Sherlock's back, Hermione found herself speechless. What had John said to him to change his demeanour toward her so drastically? Just yesterday he was snapping at her to not get in his way and now… Now, he was willingly giving her his bed to use until she was healed. Something inside of Hermione warmed at that, and she smiled, finally reaching for the clothes and getting dressed. When she was finished, she tapped Sherlock lightly on the shoulder. He turned around and gave her a once-over, nodding when he found her acceptable. Carefully, he placed his arm around her waist and began to guide her from the bathroom without saying another word.

Christmas lights twinkled along both sides of the hall outside the bathroom, and Hermione smiled as they helped light the way into the bedroom. She was still uncertain as to whether or not this was a good idea, but she didn't say so aloud. Sherlock's arm around her waist felt strong and comforting, something which she never would have guessed considering his cold outward appearance. When they were inside the bedroom, she turned and grinned so hard the cut on her cheek pulled, but she didn't notice the pain.

It appeared Mrs Hudson had decorated every room of the flat because the wall above Sherlock's bed was adorned with a haphazard strand of Christmas lights. Hermione couldn't help the giggle that left her lips when she saw it. The lights turned Sherlock's otherwise drab room into something a little more...special, as it were. Not bothering to comment aloud on the lights, Hermione allowed Sherlock to help her sit on the edge of the bed before he moved to adjust the pillows against the headboard. She watched without saying a word, both unsure what to say and afraid of breaking their amicable silence. When he was finished, he nodded, and she understood that she was meant to get settled.

When she was comfortable, Sherlock lifted the thick quilt over her legs. It was much more substantial than the one she was using on the couch, and she smoothed her hands over the soft surface waiting for him to speak. She didn't have to wait long.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, a single eyebrow quirked in question.

She nodded. "I am, thank you; although, now I get to feel bad about taking your bed too." She bit back her grin, watching as he rolled his eyes and walked over to the window. He fiddled with the latch, making sure it was secured before facing her once more. Was he concerned for her safety too? He turned around and ran a hand through his dark curls.

"It's nothing. I hardly use it." Silence settled around them again, and Hermione found she didn't quite want Sherlock to leave the room yet. She was just starting to get to know him, his mystery unravelling with each passing moment. Maybe he wasn't as cold as she originally thought him to be. Sighing, Sherlock clearly came to some sort of conclusion and walked back over to the bed. Reaching underneath it, he pulled out a box of books and placed it on the nightstand. "I noticed that you like to read. Feel free to peruse these tonight."

"Thank you," she replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. After the way Sherlock treated her before, his change in demeanour was throwing her for a loop. Clearing her throat, she decided she might as well push her luck and ease the tension between them even further. "I really do want to thank you for allowing me to stay here," she said softly, placing one hand on his forearm before he could move away. "I know that you'd rather I left, but I do want you to know I appreciate this all the same."

Sherlock peered down at her hand, his face softening ever so slightly. Sighing, he removed her hand from his arm and backed away. He stared at her for a long moment as if unsure what to say next. Eventually, he inhaled, exhaled, and then met her unwavering stare. "You're welcome. You may stay for as long as you need. I am the one who should apologise. Your presence here is not nearly as horrible as I originally feared it would be. Goodnight, Hermione." And then he slipped from the room, leaving Hermione sitting underneath the Christmas lights with more questions than answers about the man known as Sherlock Holmes.


	4. 23 December

**Author's Note:** Spent most of the day baking and preparing for tomorrow. Thanks for following along!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **23 December 2018**

Sherlock didn't sleep after allowing Hermione to use his bedroom. In fact, he spent the entirety of the night pacing in the front room. He played the violin for a while too but became nervous that it might wake his houseguest and so he returned to the pacing. By the time dawn rolled around, he'd worked himself into a near frenzy and decided he needed to get lost in the city. There were a surprising amount of people out and about considering the holiday was only a couple days away. Sherlock ignored them all.

He stopped and bought a cup of coffee at a street vendor and watched the traffic go by as he sipped it on a bridge. Afterwards, he ventured to a few of the crime scenes Lestrade had allowed him to investigate regarding the case he had yet to solve. Still, Sherlock discovered nothing new that would help him in his search for the answer. At each location he only found himself wondering how Hermione could be involved and why she ended up in his flat of all places.

At some point, Sherlock realised he was standing in front of the Diogenes Club, and he groaned. Of course, his subconscious would bring him to see his brother. For as annoying and irksome as Mycroft often was, he knew more about the government and any underlying issues that were occurring than anyone else Sherlock knew. Striding up the steps and into the building without so much as stopping at the front desk, Sherlock sought out his brother in one of his favourite rooms.

Mycroft Holmes was sitting having tea while reading the paper. He didn't so much as flinch when Sherlock moved to stand in front of him, blocking the sunlight that was streaming through one of the high windows. Instead, he merely sighed and set aside his paper before picking up his steaming cup of tea. It was still another quiet moment before he acknowledged Sherlock's presence. He first took a sip of the scalding liquid, probably to brace himself for whatever annoyance his brother was about to thrust upon him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence this morning, dear brother," Mycroft finally said as he settled back in his chair and gave Sherlock a sly grin.

"I am assuming you have intel on the attacks here in London," Sherlock drawled, tucking his gloved hands into the pocket of his jacket. Despite the fire in the grate, the room was rather chilly. He suspected that had more to do with Mycroft's presence than the lack of insulation in the old building.

Setting aside his tea, Mycroft crossed one leg over the other and steepled his fingers. "I believe you are giving me too much credit, Sherlock. I know nothing about these attacks. That is more your area than mine."

"Don't toy with me, Mycroft. We both know you are well versed in all things that involve Scotland Yard and the government," Sherlock snapped. "This happens to fall into both those categories."

"Have you figured out who the girl is yet?" Mycroft asked instead of replying to Sherlock's statement.

Blinking, Sherlock refrained from showing that he was surprised Mycroft knew about Hermione. "I have not," he said honestly, turning his back on his brother to walk toward the fireplace. "She is a mystery just as large as this case."

"Have you entertained the idea that they are one and the same?" Mycroft resumed drinking his tea as Sherlock contemplated this statement.

"I have but have come up empty so far." He hated this admit this, but there was no lying to Mycroft Holmes. At least not today.

"You are losing your touch, dear brother," Mycroft teased over the brim of the cup. This earned him a sour look from his brother, but he did not mind. He was used to Sherlock's unpleasantries. "Maybe there is more to this girl than meets to eye?"

"How very astute of you," Sherlock replied, turning away from the fireplace and heading for the door. If Mycroft was going to be difficult, he had no time to linger. There was a case to solve and that included the mystery of Hermione Granger as well. "Have a good day. Enjoy your biscuits."

Snorting quietly, Mycroft shook his head as Sherlock retreated. "You as well, brother." Before Sherlock could disappear through the door, he added, "Will you be joining us for Christmas this year?"

This caused Sherlock to pause in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he turned and gave his brother a pointed glare. "No, I will not. Mrs Hudson is hosting a get together so Ms Granger will not feel the loss of her family and friends this holiday season. Be sure to send mother and father my apologies."

And yet before Sherlock could escape, Mycroft managed another statement. "I see the girl holds your attention more than you yet know." Instead of replying to him, Sherlock just disappeared, leaving Mycroft alone once more. Smirking, Mycroft settled in to enjoy the rest of his tea and the paper. Perhaps he did know more than he was letting on, but that was for Sherlock to figure out on his own. If he told his brother every secret that existed in the world, what fun would be left to be had?

. . . .

Harry looked up as a knock sounded on the door of his office. Before he could invite whoever knocked inside, the door swung open to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic. Immediately, he stood and extended his hand in greeting. "Minister," he said, as Kingsley accepted the greeting. He then gestured to the open chair. "Welcome. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, Potter. I wish I had time to stay and chat, but I'm just stopping by to see where we were at on the case." Kingsley cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "I worry we're not making much progress and the press and public are getting restless."

Running his fingers through his already tousled hair, Harry sighed. "I think it's more the press causing the public to become restless, but I understand what you're saying."

"You're probably right, but we need results or some sort of evidence to share lest we find ourselves losing support," Kingsley said, his face hard with frustration.

"I already have everyone working overtime," Harry explained, sounding worn. "It's the Sunday before Christmas. Normally, everyone is home celebrating with their families at this point, sir. I'm not sure what else we can do."

"I think we need to start interviewing Ministry officials, Potter," Kingsley suggested. "It's not ideal, but finding out everyone's alibis for the night of the attacks will aid us in pinpointing a possible source."

"You think it was an inside job?" Harry questioned, slowly easing back down into his chair. He hadn't thought of that, but it would make sense. How else would the attackers have to know where the Ministry officials who were ambushed lived or frequented?

"I don't think we should rule out the possibility. I already have Nott checking out if there was a security breach in the personal archives." Kingsley began to back toward the door. "Look, Potter, I know Granger is still amongst the missing, and you want to focus on her, but we have to solve this for everyone involved." Without another word, the Minister left the office.

Harry sat there in silence for a while, contemplating what Kingsley had revealed. Was it possible that one of their own was behind the attacks? If so, what was their purpose? No one had come forward with demands as of yet, but it was still early days and Christmas Eve was tomorrow. A security breach would mean that no one was safe. Not the Ministry officials or the public. Everyone's records were kept in the archives, including those who were housed at Azkaban. If whoever was behind this infiltrated the Ministry, they could certainly find a way to break the Death Eaters out of prison and wreak more havoc on their community than anyone was wholly prepared for after twenty years of peace.

As of now, it looked like the Wizarding community would be having a rather sombre Christmas and possibly even New Year. Harry only hoped that Hermione was doing well and staying safe. He could have to remember to message her soon, so she didn't feel as if they'd forgotten about her. Gathering some files from his cabinet, Harry decided he needed to get with Theo and go over this new idea that Kingsley planted in his head. After that, they could hit the ground running and try and find the culprit.

. . . .

Waking slowly, Hermione relished the comfort that was Sherlock's bed. She still couldn't contemplate why he'd had a sudden change of heart when it came to her, but after having slept so soundly, she wasn't going to complain. This bed was more comfortable than her own in her little flat, and for that she was grateful. Without the aid of magic, the healing process was rather slow going, and she'd suffered an ordeal. Her broken ribs and bruised throat were agonising if she moved too much or too quickly. All she wanted was for Harry to come to her rescue so she could be treated at St. Mungo's.

Stretching as best she could without hurting herself, Hermione finished waking and tried to decide what she wanted to do today. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table revealed she'd slept in late. It was nearly noon, and soon Mrs Hudson would be coming upstairs with lunch. She decided she might as well move back into the living room where she could be social. Hermione was used to spending Sundays with the Potters and the Weasleys, especially the one right before Christmas. It was going to be a very different holiday this year.

Getting out of bed carefully, Hermione realised a visit to the loo was in order and headed there. She used her finger as a toothbrush and borrowed whoever's hairbrush was sitting on the sink. By the time she emerged and entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she was feeling almost normal. She smiled seeing Mrs Hudson at the stove, setting a pot of water to boil for tea. Easing into a chair at the table, she waited for the landlady to finish before interrupting.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson," she said sweetly as the landlady turned around.

"Oh, good afternoon, dear. It's so nice to see you up and about," Mrs Hudson said with a smile. She reached over and patted Hermione on the hand before returning to what she was doing. "You have much more colour this afternoon. Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she answered. "Sherlock's bed was much more comfortable than the sofa." Mrs Hudson gave her a knowing look and Hermione blushed. "He allowed me to use his bed. I think he slept on the sofa. It's not like that, I promise."

"No worries, dear," Mrs Hudson said as she poured them both a cup of tea. "Whatever is brewing between you and Sherlock is your business and yours alone. Now, let's have some lunch and then you can help me string up some popcorn for the tree."

Still blushing, Hermione decided to just let the topic of conversation drop. It wasn't like there was anything for Mrs Hudson to pick at anyway. There was absolutely nothing going on between her and Sherlock. He'd just decided to have a sudden change of heart, and that was it. Surely, when he returned to the flat, he would go back to being distant and silent in regards to her presence. He'd apologized, but that didn't mean he still didn't want her getting in the way of whatever case he was working.

And speaking of cases, Hermione was rather curious about what was happening within the Wizarding community. Harry had said things were hectic and she should stay where she was safe. Did that mean there were other attacks? Was Harry safe? Was someone out looking for her? Question after question ran through her mind, but she did not have the answers. Instead, Hermione tried to refocus on what Mrs Hudson was talking about. It wouldn't be wise to get herself all worked up over something she couldn't even help with right now.

She was stuck here at 221B until Harry either sent someone for her or came himself. There really was no keeping her from just walking out the front door but considering it hurt to get up and down from a chair, she didn't see that happening anytime soon. Besides, everyone had been so lovely so far, even Mary who popped in a couple times with little Rosie. It was then that Hermione found herself with an idea. She wanted to repay these kind people this holiday. She smiled and glanced up at Mrs Hudson who was sipping quietly on her tea.

"Mrs Hudson?" she asked, causing the woman to look her way.

"What is it?" she replied, setting down her teacup.

"I was wondering if you would help me acquire some yarn and knitting needles," Hermione explained. "As much as I love to read, I think knitting might help to ease my mind while I'm forced to sit still and recover all day long."

Mrs Hudson's eyes lit up, and a smile curled on her lips. "Of course, dear. I have some downstairs, but we can get whatever else you may need." She stood from her chair and patted Hermione on the shoulder. "Give me a few moments, and I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Hermione said with relief. Now she had something to work toward while she tried to keep her thoughts of the Wizarding community at bay. Mrs Hudson threw her another smile and headed downstairs to her own flat. Hermione sat there and finished her tea, hopeful that she could make the best of this dreary holiday.

. . . .

"What is she doing?" Sherlock whispered to John. They were standing in the doorway watching Hermione as she clicked away.

"Knitting, by the looks of it," John stated as if that were obvious. It was, in fact, obvious. Hermione was currently sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and surrounded by heaps of different coloured yarn. She was absorbed in her task, not even pausing to look up at the two men.

"She's taking over the flat," Sherlock muttered in annoyance. "When are you going to allow her to leave?"

"I can hear you," Hermione pointed out, setting aside her knitting needles and smiling brightly. Ignoring Sherlock's rudeness, she decided to be kind. "How was your day?"

Sherlock frowned at her remarks which caused John to laugh. He removed his jacket and hung it by the door. "Have some tact, Sherlock. Hermione can leave when she feels well enough, and I know she won't injure herself further."

"Where am I to work?" Sherlock inquired, gesturing at how Hermione's knitting had taken over the sofa and coffee table.

"The kitchen or you can sit idle in your chair by the fire like you normally do," John quipped, crossing his arms and giving Sherlock a glare.

"It's not sitting idle. I'm in my Mind Palace," Sherlock said with a pout.

"So you always say." John sighed and then added, "Why don't we order some take-out and then I can help you talk through this case." John turned to see if Sherlock wanted to join them, but he had already disappeared, his footsteps fading down the stairs. Sighing again, John decided if the detective didn't want to be social, he didn't have to. He would make Hermione feel welcome enough for both of them. Striding toward the sofa, he sat on the open end and laughed.

"It seems you've had a productive day. How are you feeling?" He gestured toward the scarves and other miscellaneous items that Hermione had clearly put together that day.

"I'm feeling alright," Hermione began. "I'm a little tired, but now that I have something to do, I find ignoring the pain easier."

"Are you still having a lot of pain?" John asked, preparing to examine Hermione for the evening.

"Not so much, but my ribs still ache when I move too much," she told John. She allowed him to feel where they were broken, wincing only slightly as the pain hit.

"They seem to be holding up well," John told her when he was finished. "I'd offer you some pain medicine, but it's still early in the evening. If you're ready for bed…"

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed. "I still have so much knitting to do and take-out sounds rather good. I haven't eaten since lunch." Mrs Hudson had gone out for the afternoon and hadn't returned, so there'd been no tea and biscuits. She wasn't complaining though. Knitting had her so engrossed she hadn't even realised what time it was until John and Sherlock were standing there.

"Alright then," John said, slapping his knee. "I'll go and order us something and then you can show me what you've been up to. I was supposed to help Sherlock tonight, but it seems he's decided to do his own thing."

Hermione wanted to say something positive about Sherlock's behaviour but found herself at a loss. It wasn't really her place considering how very little she knew about the man. He was a mystery wrapped up in a mystery, and that drove her mad. Granted, she was a mystery too. Her secret was more significant than anything Sherlock could throw her way. So far she'd been able to keep from slipping up, but there was no telling how long that would keep up, especially as she grew more and more comfortable here.

While she waited for John to return, Hermione resumed her knitting. She had no idea what was going on elsewhere, but inside 221B, things were starting to get interesting. Sherlock had warmed to her, if ever so slightly and the others were caring for her too. When it came time to leave, she was going to have a hard time saying goodbye. Maybe someday she would be able to share her secret or at the very least, return and continue being friends with these Muggles. Only time would tell.

. . . .

Walking through the dark, nearly empty streets of London, Sherlock wondered why he always felt compelled to disappear when it came to Hermione. He knew very little about her aside from her name, that her friend was called Harry, and that she worked for a part of the government. Mycroft knew something about her but refused to let on what it was. How utterly frustrating. When he finally figured this out, he was going to gloat and send his brother a cake. Hah.

Then there was that wooden stick. What the bloody hell was that thing? Why would she keep it in her jacket? He'd brought it out of the hiding place again to examine it further and discovered nothing. For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be a simple stick and nothing more. It was maddening, but he knew he would get no further unless he actually took the time to talk to Hermione. He was sure she would not admit to anything if he came outright and asked. She was the type of person who needed friendship and companionship before opening their heart or soul.

John had saved her, and that was why she was open with him, as well as Mary and Rosie. But who didn't love that little girl… Pausing in front of the Tower of London, Sherlock sighed heavily and thought then of Mrs Hudson. She and Hermione were getting on well. Hermione had helped decorate and was now knitting as the landlady often did in her own free time. It appeared he was the only one who had yet to make a lasting connection with the strange woman. He thought helping her with the bath and then allowing her to sleep in his bedroom would do the trick but so far no luck.

There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that insisted he would have to spend more time in her presence if he wanted to get closer to her. However, Sherlock was never very good at getting to know people or letting them into his own heart. Not that he wanted to let her into his heart of course. He just wanted to figure out who she really was and where she came from. Frustrated with this realisation, Sherlock whirled around and nearly took out a passerby.

"Terribly sorry, mate," the man muttered, backing away after he'd narrowly avoided being run unto by Sherlock.

"I apologise," Sherlock insisted. "It was my fault for not looking."

"No worries. Have a good night." The man ran a hand through his dark hair and flashed him a perfect toothed smile.

Sherlock merely nodded and continued on his way. The man seemed to be going to same way he was so it was not odd that he followed behind him, keeping his distance. Every now and then Sherlock would peer back and notice him texting or scrolling around on his mobile. In essence, he appeared to be a completely ordinary bloke on his way to the pub or home for the night. Sherlock decided to pay him no more mind and instead continued to come up with a plan to get Hermione to talk to him more freely.

It wasn't until he was many blocks away from the initial encounter when Sherlock realised the man was wearing attire similar to that which Hermione had worn the night she arrived at 221B. Brow furrowed, Sherlock turned back in the direction he'd come from but found no one there. It was oddly silent, almost as if there had never been someone following him at all. It wouldn't be the first time Sherlock imagined such a thing but he was reasonably sure there had been a man.

It was months since he'd last partaken of recreational drugs in an attempt to solve a case. This was per Mycroft and John's orders, along with a very heated warning from Mary. If he wanted to remain in Rosie's life, he was not allowed to be near drugs. Molly tested him biweekly to determine whether or not he was clean and so far he was doing well. But what if someone planted drugs in his food or drink? Deciding he needed to be sure, Sherlock waved down a cab and was on his way to St. Barts. If there was something wrong with him, then he was going to get to the bottom of it. He was reasonably sure that Hermione would definitely not approve of his past with drugs and the like.

Sometime later, the cabbie pulled in front of the hospital and Sherlock exited without much thought. He paid and then entered the hospital. He would covertly ask Molly for advice on Hermione while not giving anything away. There were a few days before his typical drug test, but he suspected she wouldn't mind being disturbed tonight. No one paid him any mind as he made his way to Molly's lab. It was getting late, and most of the workers had probably already gone home for the evening. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, after all.

Entering the lab, he was entirely unsurprised to find Molly sitting there scouring over medical files. She was still single as far as he knew and had nowhere else to be tonight. She lifted her head and smiled warmly at him as he wandered inside and removed his gloves and scarf. He kept his jacket on for the time being for it was a bit chilly inside the lab. Striding over to where she was standing, Sherlock crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow.

"I believe I may have been drugged and require my testing early," he said without preamble.

Molly's mouth popped open and then she struggled to find something to say. "Sherlock- What are you talking about?" she questioned, easing down onto the lab chair and fixing Sherlock with her curious stare. It was unlike him to come bursting into the lab, demanding to be drug tested. Usually, she and John had to bribe him with corpses to analyse to even get him to consider it.

"Earlier, I swear there was a man following me, and then suddenly, there wasn't." Sherlock ran a hand shakily through his hair. "It's like Baskerville all over again."

Seeing how clearly distraught Sherlock was over the situation, Molly hopped up from where she was perched and guided her friend to sit. "I'm sure it's not like that at all, Sherlock. He probably just turned down an alley. Have a seat and take off your coat; I'll run some bloodwork." She helped him discard his jacket and then gathered her supplies while he rolled up his sleeve.

Sherlock continued to mutter while he watches Molly work. This case was wearing him thin, and he needed proper sleep. Only, there was too much to figure out, and Hermione was a distraction. Not to mention the vanishing man. He probably should never have left the flat that night, but it was too late. He may have been drugged while with John for all he knew. Maybe John had been the one to do it. Perhaps he was getting him back for all the times he'd suck something into his tea…

"Sherlock?" It took a second, but he realised that Molly was trying to get his attention. He lifted his gaze and waited for her to say something. "I said, you can roll your sleeve back down now. I'm going to start the tests."

"Yes, thank you," he muttered and did as he was told. He also shrugged back into his jacket, feeling oddly cold. Molly was still rambling on as she always did, but he was utterly distracted. "Molly?" he asked finally, interrupting her constant banter.

"Hmmm?" she asked, squinting slightly as she let a few drops of his blood fall onto a microscope slide.

"Has John told you about the woman staying at 221B?" he inquired, rising from the chair to lean on the lab station where Molly was working.

"Mary did, actually," Molly said, continuing to examine the slide and only briefly glancing his way. "She called to see if I had any extra clothes we could let her wear."

"Hermione is far curvier than you are. Your clothes would never do her justice," Sherlock said without thought. When Molly straightened up and sent him a glare, he held up both hands. "Bit not good?"

"Definitely not," Molly said sternly, shaking a single finger his way. "I don't even know which one of us you meant to insult."

"Neither. I was simply stating a fact." He shrugged and added, "I take it this is not something once typically discusses."

"No…" She paused, thought for a moment but then shook her head. "Just, never mind." She sighed again and then sat back on her stool. "And you haven't been drugged, Sherlock. You're clean." She gestured at the microscope.

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely. All the tests come back clean. You must have been imagining things. People just don't disappear." Sighing, Molly folded her arms across her chest and set Sherlock with a penetrating stare. "So you've taken notice of the mystery woman's body type, have you?"

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock tried not to react to her blatant attempt at gossiping. "She's been in my flat three days now. It would be rather difficult not to take notice of her appearance."

Shrugging, Molly smiled. "From what Mary told me, she'd rather pretty. And smart."

"Smart?" Sherlock questioned, having not realised this himself. Although, Hermione did read a lot. He noticed she preferred his books to the ones John and Mrs Hudson left for her.

"Yes," Molly continued to explain. "Mary said she has a job with the government and that she went to a private school. I can't recall if she told me a name. Anyways, I was hoping to meet her on Christmas."

"Christmas?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah. Mrs Hudson invited me over for dinner." Molly smiled then, her eyes lighting up. "It'll be a nice change from spending the day alone."

"I suppose so…" Sherlock trailed off thoughtfully, having no idea that Mrs Hudson was planning such an ordeal. He rather hated to get-togethers. However, now that he thought about it, the obsessive decorating made sense. Clearing his throat, Sherlock retrieved his scarf and gloves and began to back toward the door. "Thank you, Molly. I must be on my way. I have a case to solve."

As Sherlock opened the door, Molly shouted after him. "Let me know if you need any help!" he didn't reply, but then again, he never did. Shaking her head, Molly figured she might as well pack it in for the night. There was no reason to stay any longer and a bath some tea sounded much more pleasant than reviewing the corpse catalogue once more.

. . . .

It was late when Sherlock finally returned to the flat. John had left long ago, Hary having called and asked if he could come home and help with holiday preparations. Hermione was just getting ready for bed when she heard him come upstairs. She wasn't really sure what made her do it, but something told her she should venture out into the living room and say something to the strange man. He'd left so abruptly earlier, she had no real idea why he didn't stay.

She crept down the hallway, listening in as Sherlock rifled through some papers on the desk. She hoped that he wasn't too upset with her for practically taking over the sofa earlier with her knitting. She'd needed a break from lying in bed, and Mrs Hudson had been so helpful with the yarn and giving her some ideas as to everyone's favourite colours. The closer she moved toward the quieter Sherlock became. He knew she was awake and was apparently preparing for her to interrupt him.

"Sherlock?" she said quietly, pausing in the doorway. He was standing, staring out the window as if he had much on his mind. For a moment he didn't respond, instead of reaching for his violin, which he lifted as if in preparation to play. Clearing her throat from her sudden nerves, she asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied, briefly glancing over his shoulder. When she nodded, he lifted the bow and began to play the violin. It was a sad tune, one she'd not heard him play before. In fact, she wasn't sure it was something anyone had heard before.

Silently, Hermione retreated from the living room and returned to the back bedroom. She wasn't sure why, but something about the exchange left her uneasy. Sherlock may have said he was alright, but he wasn't telling her the full truth. Now she felt sorry for keeping her secret from him as well. There was no way she could reveal her true nature, but a part of her yearned to do so.

Sliding into the bed, she pulled the covers over her still bruised and aching form. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and she knew Mrs Hudson had plans for them all. It was in an effort to cheer her up, no doubt, but all she really wanted was to be back with her friends in the wizarding world. She felt more alone tonight than she had before the attack. As sleep took her, she couldn't help but think that maybe Sherlock felt as lonely as she often did.

. . . .


	5. 24 December

**Author's Note:** Happy Christmas Eve! I rushed through my edits of this so apologize if anything seems wonky. I should also mention most of this was written/dictated during NaNoWriMo so it's been hell editing it all. Also, thank you to the guest who let me know I made an error about Ron and Pansy. I went back and corrected the first chapter to say George and Angelina. Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely holiday! Tomorrow's chapter may go up late but I'll get it up! Thank you!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **24 December 2018**

Harry had just removed his coat when Theo entered his office that morning. Typically, the Ministry would be closed for Christmas Eve, but with the case still wide open, the MLE and Auror departments were required to be there. Upon seeing Theo, Harry sighed and sank into his chair. It only took a single glance from his friend and colleague to know that something significant had occurred.

"This had better be good, Nott," Harry grumbled, combing a hand through his hair. "I'm missing breakfast, and homemade hot cocoa at Arthur and Molly's this morning. Christmas Eve tradition with all the kids..."

"Yes, and I'm missing out on copious amounts of sex with my husband before my family arrives for the holiday, but here we are," Theo countered, taking the open seat across from Harry.

"That is far too much information," Harry said as he blanched. "I haven't had enough coffee for all that."

Theo laughed heartily. He always enjoyed getting a rise out of Harry, especially when they had a severe case going. "Sorry, mate. Just having a laugh. Yeah, though, I do have some information to share with you."

"What's up?" Harry said, leaning forward and giving Theo his full attention.

"I followed that detective who owns the flat Hermione is staying at. Last night, actually," he began to explain, his face falling into a frown. "He's rather an odd fellow. Talks to himself and traipses all over London in the middle of the night."

"Should we be worried?" Harry asked, feeling his heartbeat increase with worry.

"I'm not sure. He nearly ran into me, but I think I played it off well enough." Theo smirked, thankful for his quick thinking the night before. "I do think he noticed when I apparated though."

"Why do you say that?" Harry worried about Theo being seen. He was often a bit excitable when it came to intermingling with the Muggles.

"He got a bit frantic. Ended up at some hospital and asked his friend for a drug test," Theo further explained. "It seems like that's a regular occurrence for him, but he came back clean."

Harry sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You really shouldn't be risking Hermione's safety by stalking this Holmes character. You know that, right?"

"I'm just thorough. I know I said he seemed fine, but his past is filtered with a lot of weird circumstances." Theo laughed and shook his head before listing off a few. "He faked his own death, killed a man, but that was covered up, and he works alongside Scotland Yard to solve cases for them."

"He killed a man? And faked his death?" Now Harry was really concerned. "Why the hell did you tell me he was okay. We need to rethink leaving Hermione there. And you said he was getting a drug test? Yeah, this is not good, Theo."

"He's brilliant, though, Harry," Theo said quietly. "Utterly brilliant. He has this website, _The Science of Deduction_ , and some of the things he's written about… His experiments and research, it's amazing. I've never seen the likes of it before. He reminds me of Hermione, in a way."

"I'm lost," Harry muttered. "Why are you telling me all of this? Do you want to go and get Hermione or not?"

"I think we should leave her there, not because of the safety risk, but rather because I think she and Holmes could hit it off." Theo chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face. "Don't look at me like that. We both know the witch needs a man in her life. Who says it has to be a wizard?"

"I just don't think now is the right time to be playing cupid, Theo. There's a madman on the loose, and you're worried about setting Hermione up with some random bloke she's staying with while she heals, minds you." Harry sat back and just shook his head. He loved Theo, but the wizard was clearly insane.

Theo waved Harry's comment away. "Nah, it's fine. Let the Christmas spirit work its magic. And maybe even New Years too if we can't close this case before then. Don't you think she deserves someone special?"

"I do," Harry rushed to say, not wanting Theo to think he didn't care about Hermione's happiness. "I'm just worried right now is bad timing."

"It's fine," Theo said with a shrug. "Look at you and Ginny. You came together after the Battle of Hogwarts, as did Blaise and I. War brings people together in mysterious ways."

Sighing in defeat, Harry decided to just go with Theo's crazy plan. "Fine, alright? We'll let Hermione stay with the madman, but I swear if there are any signs that he's linked to this thing, I'm going to murder you."

"Noted," Theo said with a smirk. "Now, shall we get back to work. I swear, Potter, you sit around and gossip too much." He sent the Auror a wink and then stood from the chair.

Harry just rolled his eyes, and he too stood and prepared to head out. They had a briefing meeting that morning before beginning to question some more of the witches and wizards who worked for the Ministry. "You're something else…"

"But I get shit done," Theo pointed out as they left the office together.

Damn it, Harry thought. He was right.

. . . .

Ginny sat at her mother's house, sipping hot cocoa and watching her children play with their cousins. It was always a festive affair, but there was definitely something missing this year, and it wasn't just Harry and Hermione. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she hated that even the children seemed to sense the uneasiness in the air. They were far more subdued than usual.

"Are you alright, darling?" Molly asked as she took a seat next to her daughter in the living room.

Ginny sighed and set aside her mug. "I'm fine, mum. Just worried, tired, and sad, I guess."

"That's perfectly understandable." Molly patted Ginny's knee. "Harry will figure this thing out and bring Hermione home safely. It can't last forever."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. I really don't want another war." She swallowed hard and looked to the pictures on the wall. "We lost so many before…"

"Hush," Molly said softly, though there was an ache audible. "Don't go saying such things. No one is going to die."

"I hope you're right," Ginny said, watching as Lily rolled marbles across the hardwood floor and James nearly toppled over as he stepped on a few.

"You have to have faith, love. We all do." Molly smiled warmly at her only daughter and was glad when she smiled back. "You've never had a problem believing in Harry before. What's changed?"

"He's always had Hermione and Ron at his back. This time she's off injured and alone and Ron is stuck working in the joke shop." Ginny hated to admit all of this, but it was true. The Golden Trio never had a problem beating the inevitable, but they were broken apart by circumstance right now.

"That's silly," Molly said gently. "Harry has an entire team of Aurors and MLE agents working with him. They are all perfectly capable. Besides, you know Hermione. She's probably already figured out something is amiss and is working on it from her end of things."

"I really hope you're right, mum," Ginny replied as she retrieved her mug and took a sip. The cocoa was getting cold, but it was still delicious. She wished more than ever for her husband and dear friend to be there with her. "I hate this. So damn much."

Molly didn't bother correcting her daughter's language. She knew she was upset and didn't want to start an argument over something so little. Instead, she decided she should try and get her daughter more involved in the festivities. At the very least it would help take her mind off of things for a few hours. "Come now," she began, standing and holding out her hand. "Let's get the kids together and play a few games of Exploding Snap."

Ginny smiled, knowing what her mother was trying to do. Taking the offered hand, she stood and followed her mother to the games trunk. "Okay, mum. But can we had add a bit of alcohol to our hot cocoa when we make the next batch?"

Molly smirked. Ginny was most definitely her daughter. "Absolutely."

. . . .

Hermione sat in John's chair by the fire while she continued to knit. So far it had been an uneventful Christmas Eve, but it was only mid-afternoon. Mrs Hudson had stopped by for tea and breakfast that morning and Mary and also brought Rosie by around that time as well. Mary didn't have any family of her own aside from John and Sherlock. They spent the time talking about holiday traditions with Hermione. Now she was alone while Mrs Hudson was back downstairs cleaning and possibly even preparing to go to the market for a few last things she needed for tomorrow's holiday celebration.

Sherlock had been oddly absent the entire day. Hermione wasn't even sure how long he stayed up playing the violin last night. She knew that at one point she woke up in the middle of the night and could still hear the sad melody floating through the flat. Then music soothed her back to sleep her until she heard Mrs Hudson puttering around in the kitchen. A part of her had hoped Sherlock would be there when she awoke and she could possibly inquire as to why he left so abruptly the night before. She also was curious why he seemed so sad all of a sudden.

Recalling that Mrs Hudson had told her he sometimes grew gloomy at the holidays, Hermione tried not to overthink on it. However, her mind wouldn't let her think of anything else while she knitted the scarf she was currently working on. It was for Sherlock. She knew he had a fancy blue one he wore quite frequently when leaving the flat but she could tell it wasn't extremely warm. Hermione wanted to make sure that he would be comfortable on nights when he had to wander the city solving cases. She wondered if he would even like it because he seemed so adamant about not interacting with her more than absolutely necessary.

John was set to return to the flat that evening to check her over before having a quiet dinner and celebration with his wife and daughter. Tomorrow would be the day when everyone came over to exchange gifts and have supper together. Hermione knew it would be exhausting considering she was still recovering from her attack, so she was trying to rest up as much as possible today. She just had to finish up Sherlock's scarf and the pair of socks she'd started for Mrs Hudson and then she planned on taking a nap. She might even just lounge around either reading or possibly watching the small TV she found shoved underneath of the desk by the window.

It was quite obvious Sherlock did little else aside from working on his cases. He had plenty of books that she suspected he either skimmed to read and frequently. Most of his time must have been spent wondering London solving cases for Scotland Yard or other clients. John had explained all about the blog he wrote about the cases on, and she spent some time skimming over it. Reading most of it would have felt like an invasion of their privacy and really she wanted to learn about Sherlock from the man himself and not from John's descriptions on the computer screen.

Hermione knew what it was like for people to judge someone by their looks and actions alone. When she was a first-year everyone made fun of her, and she had been so alone until Harry and Ron had decided to save her from that troll. She hoped that there might be a circumstance where she and Sherlock had an opportunity to connect as well. Although, she hoped it wasn't defeating a troll or even capturing whoever was behind the attacks.

Speaking of the attacks, Hermione had managed to get her hands on a few copies of the most recent papers, and it appeared that she was not the only one attacked London. Multiple people were attacked all over the city and Hermione suspected that it was related to the Wizarding Community even though it was being printed about in the Muggle newspapers. She hadn't yet figured out what could be the issue, but she hoped to come up with a few ideas soon. She still felt so drained, and she knew that if she tried to get involved she would want to rush back to the Wizarding World before Harry said it was safe and she was healed enough to do so.

Besides, she still had no idea what happened to her purse or wand. Her wand should have been in the sleeve of her jacket because that is where it was when she passed out from the severity of her injuries. It made no sense that it was gone, but she couldn't just come right out and ask John. It wasn't a far walk from the alley to 221B so there was no reason that it could have slipped from the holder in the sleeve and drop to the ground outside. Someone must have taken it, but she had yet to figure out who might have done so.

For now, she was pretending to be a Muggle. Not a single word or phrase had slipped from her lips that could even indicate that she was from a different community, one in which had magic. She'd also managed to avoid too many questions about her occupation. When she was asked, she just gave a vague answer about local government and working alongside the authorities now and then. Honestly, she hoped that Sherlock didn't go looking into this because he would discover quickly that she had no affiliations with Scotland Yard or the local government.

If that was the case, then she expected he would have her either arrested or just throw her out into the streets to fend for herself at this point. John had managed to talk him down from making her leave earlier, but she had no idea for how much longer she would be welcome here despite what John or Mrs Hudson said. If she were found out to be lying, everyone would want her to go, and she couldn't blame them for that in the least.

She'd sent Harry a few more messages but hadn't heard back so she knew he really must be busy trying to sort out whatever was going on in the wizarding community. She hated it, but she had no access to information about her friends or what was happening. The only way she would get proper information would be if Harry actually called her instead of texting. Unfortunately, he had not called, and she didn't think he was going to do so either. It was probably too dangerous.

There was not much she could do so she figured it was best to continue making the best of the situation. She would enjoy the holiday as best as she could being apart from her friends and their families that she considered to be her own. Who knew, maybe everything would be sorted, and she could go home for the New Year. Until then, she would stay here in 221 B and do what she could to get better and learn more about Sherlock. A part of her knew that he was the real mystery of the situation.

There would be no returning to her former life without figuring him out first. He interested her more than she cared to admit to herself and she most certainly would never admit it aloud. She tried not to ask too many questions about the man for fear that people might suspect her of being there to spy on him or something of the like. In reality, she'd just been alone for far too long, and part of her found him attractive as well as extremely intelligent. She knew that was probably going to be her downfall when it came to him.

Maybe it was being stuck in the flat all day with no one else to look at, but she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. She hated that he always disappeared or didn't seem to want to talk to her at all. It was more than a little bit frustrating. Hermione was not used to being ignored since taking a position of power within the ministry as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Granted, romance had not been at the top of her priorities list in recent years, and she still wondered if it was even close to being on the list now. If it wasn't for being stuck here would she also be considering the possibility of liking someone at all?

Everyone else seemed to want to get to know her, so why not him? Hermione was constantly fielding intrusive questions from the others, and yet Sherlock refrained. Really would it kill him to just speak to her like he talked to the others? He talked to Mrs Hudson without issues, as well as John. Even he and Mary seemed to get along really well, and she could tell he doted on Rosie whenever possible. Was it that she was a stranger that held him back? She had a feeling he could sense that she was keeping something from him, but if he tried to get to know her, he would realise that whatever secret she held didn't affect who she was as a person. Honestly, being a witch was only part of who she was.

As she grew more and more furious sitting there thinking about Sherlock and how he almost blatantly ignored her nearly all of the time, the man in question quietly strode into the living room and began rifling through the mail on the desk. Hermione said nothing because she knew he was aware of her presence, so she decided to wait for him to say something first. However, the longer she sat there, the more she realised he was probably never going to do so, and so she decided to take matters into her own hands. Clearing her throat, she set aside her knitting needles and waited for him to give her his attention.

When he glanced her way, she smiled and said, "Hey, Sherlock. I'm sorry if I interrupted you last night when you came in. Oddly enough, I have been worried about you being out so late."

Sherlock turned his body, so he was fully facing her and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he contemplated what she said. Tipping his head slightly to the side, he seemed to be examining her more intently then he had as of yet. After a quiet moment of contemplation, he said, "I'm fine as I told you last night. I wonder the city quite often late at night when I'm working a case or when I just can't sleep."

"How often do you sleep?" Hermione inquired and then blushed "I'm sorry. If you don't mind me asking."

A smile crept onto Sherlock's face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. He said, "I get perhaps three to four hours of sleep on a good night, but my mind is often too busy to allow sleep to come."

"Wow," Hermione exclaimed softly. "That sounds like me actually. When I get busy with work, or I'm overly stressed about something, I hardly ever sleep. It drives my friends mad."

Sherlock chuckled and then moved to sit in the leather chair across from her. "I know I haven't been around here very much while you have been staying here, but I have been working a critical case. Scotland Yard has asked for my assistance and Lestrade gets a little antsy when it takes me longer than normal to figure out an answer."

"I know what that's like too. I wonder," Hermione paused and bit her lip as she thought. She knew she was about to give more away than she ought to, but she really wanted to open up slightly and see if Sherlock would do the same. So, taking a deep breath, she figured what the hell. "Has Mary mentioned that I work and law enforcement?"

Sherlock nodded and said, "She did mention it to John who mentioned it to me. I am curious about what exactly you do, but I understand if you do not wish to tell me."

Hermione shrugged. "Honestly, I can't really tell you too much aside from what I have just now. I can relate to what you do, but my job is pretty much a secret. I'm sure you can understand."

"I understand completely," Sherlock said, although there was a frown etched in all the lines around his eyes and on his forehead. "My brother works for the government. I am not ever entirely sure what he is up to. He has his fingers in so many different areas."

"That's understandable," Hermione said and then picked at the scarf that was in her lap. "You know, I really do want to thank you for letting me stay here. Normally, Christmas Eve is spent at my best friend's family's home, so I'm thankful to not feel alone in some stark old hospital room."

Sherlock stood and brushed out the wrinkles in his trousers. "That was John thoughts as well when he insisted that you should be allowed to stay for Christmas. Do you believe you will be able to return to your own home within the next few days? Are you feeling up to it?"

"To be honest, I don't know," she admitted, looking him in the eye. "My body is still aching, and movement is rather difficult. I'm afraid of what could happen if I tried walking downstairs." Pausing, Hermione took a deep breath and then added, "Although, if you would like, I could try my hardest to leave the day after Christmas?"

"No," Sherlock said, waving away her question. He started to head towards the kitchen. "You may stay for as long as you need. I meant what I said before. Take your time and heal."

Hermione bit back a laugh as Sherlock prepare to sit at the kitchen table and fiddle with his microscope. "Are you saying that sincerely or because you know John will have your head if you try and force me out?" When Sherlock's head whipped around to stare at her, she gave him a wide grin.

"Clearly, you have been paying more attention to the interactions between John and I than I gave you credit for," Sherlock said slowly and looking at her slightly different than he had before. "Go on back to your knitting. I won't bother you any longer. I need to analyse these samples from a crime scene."

"A crime scene?" Hermione asked. "Which one? I've seen a lot of crime scenes popping up in the papers that I found over on the coffee table yesterday morning."

"This one is a little closer to home," Sherlock told her, focusing on the microscope in front of him. "You can continue talking, but I probably won't hear you any longer," he told her as he placed his face against the eyepiece and began to fiddle with the knobs.

Hermione rolled her eyes but managed to resettle in the chair so that her chest didn't ache so horribly after having been twisted around to stare at Sherlock. "Okay, fine. Sorry for interrupting the thought process. You won't even know I'm here unless, of course, the clicking of these needles bothers you." She smiled when Sherlock nodded, apparently paying attention to her.

As she resumed her knitting, Hermione felt slightly better about being there with Sherlock. The conversation was brief, and not much had been revealed, but he was not rushing to get away from her this time. That was progress. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so awkward after all, and he would be able to stand her presence longer. Who knew perhaps they could even become friends before she left, but she wasn't going to hold her breath.

. . . .

Harry was exhausted by the time he made it home that night. Ginny was upstairs making sure the kids were bathed and getting ready for bed. She'd left him downstairs to eat the plate of leftovers her mother had sent home for him while she got the kids ready for bed. Afterwards, he was going to go upstairs and read a book with the kids and then he and Ginny would put the presents under the tree and curl up together in front of the fire before bed. He may have missed the traditional Christmas Eve festivities from during the day, but at least he would have this.

He'd just finished his meal and was washing up the dishes when there was a knock at the front door. Frowning, Harry dried his hands on a tea towel and headed for the door. Suspecting it to be Ron or one of the other Weasley's, Harry was wholly unprepared to find Theo standing on the other side when it was swung open. He looked utterly miserable which was precisely how Harry now felt.

"Damn it," Harry muttered, feeling all the festivity woosh right out of him as he exhaled. "This can't be good."

"I really hate to interrupt your evening, Potter," Theo said with a frown. He shuffled from one foot to the other in the doorway of the Potter's house before heaving a sigh and meeting his friend's eyes again. "There's been a breakthrough in the case."

"What?" Harry sputtered, opening the door slightly wider. "I just left the bloody office. What could have happened since then?"

"Dennis Creevey. His body was discovered shortly after seven this evening by the Muggle authorities," Theo explained, his voice solemn. "You know I hate to do this but-"

"You need me to come back to the Ministry," Harry said and then removed his glasses. He roughly rubbed at his face with one hand. "I knew this early night was too good to be true. Ginny is going to lose her mind."

"I'm really sorry, mate," Theo muttered sounding completely horrid over having to ruin Harry's holiday. "What can we do though? Someone's been murdered, and now we have to up the investigation. Kingsley is beside himself furious. He's already in a meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister so we can have clearance at the crime scene."

"Shit," Harry said, gesturing for Theo to come inside. He closed the door behind his friend and then added, "This really is serious."

"It's a bloody nightmare, that's what it is." Theo sat down on the edge of the sofa while Harry took the chair. "Killings for Christmas. How lovely."

"I'm at a loss, Nott." Harry spread his hands wide. "We have no leads, and all of our interviews have come up with nothing as well. What does Kingsley think we can do now?"

"No idea," Theo said honestly. "I guess we can only hope the killer made a mistake at the crime scene."

"I guess you're right," Harry said before leaning forward and placing his face in his hands.

His glasses were still off and he just really didn't have the energy to deal with reality right now. Hermione was still out there, and now one of their old classmates was dead. They had no leads and tomorrow was Christmas. The Creevy family was going to have to deal with that. Someone was going to have to speak to the press before things got out of line. More chaos is what this was going to cause. As he was strewing over all of this, he heard Ginny coming down the stairs. Sighing heavily, he sat up and returned his glasses to his face just in time to see the disappointed look she was now wearing.

"Please tell me this is not happening," she said slowly, clearly upset by Theo being there so late in the evening. She glanced between the sullen faces of Harry and Theo and then walked right to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Finest, and promptly opened it to take a swig. She didn't even flinch at the burn in her throat. Dropping onto the other side of the sofa, she took another sip and then glared at Theo. "What happened?"

"Dennis Creevey was murdered," he said without preamble.

"Fuck," Ginny replied, making Theo chuckle and her husband sigh heavily. "There goes Christmas. For everyone."

"I have to go and investigate the murder scene," Harry told Ginny, wishing he could join her as she continued to drink straight from the bottle of whiskey. "I may not be home in time for Christmas morning…"

"The kids are going to be so disappointed," Ginny mumbled. Setting aside the bottle she shrugged. "There's nothing to do about it though. There's a madman out there, and you need to catch him. Maybe we can postpone everything until this case is solved."

"It's alright, Gin," Harry said, standing and going over to kneel in front of his wife. "Don't do that. Let the kids open their presents and stockings. Take them to Ron and Pansy's like planned I'll join you when and if I can."

"I promise to get him back to you and the family as quickly as possible," Theo said, breaking his silence and feeling horrible for having to tear the family apart for the holidays.

"But it won't be the same without you here…" There were tears in her eyes, and she hated that. She was upset though. Mostly she was mad at whoever felt it was necessary to kill innocent people. They'd had enough of this twenty years ago. This was just dredging up old feelings.

Taking her hands into his own, he stared into her eyes and said, "I know this isn't ideal, but I have to do it. I always wanted to be an Auror, and this comes with the job. When I get home, whenever that may be, we'll celebrate properly. Hopefully, by then, Hermione will be with us too. Alright?"

Ginny was openly crying now, quiet tears running down her cheeks as she listened to her husband. He was right, of course. He was meant to do this job. Protecting others was in his blood. She nodded and leaned forward so she could press their foreheads together. "I love you, Harry Potter. You do your job and protect all of us."

"I will," he promised in a whisper. Squeezing her hands once, he let go and pushed to his feet. Turning, he realised that Theo had slipped out of the room to give them some privacy. "Look, Gin," he started, "This could take a while. Please, let the kids know how sorry I am."

"I will," she told Harry, standing as well. "Be careful, will ya?"

"Definitely," Harry assured her. "If you can, try and sway your coworkers at the Prophet not to drag us too far through the dragon dung."

"I make no promises because typically they're a bunch of twats, but I'll try." Sighing, Ginny ran a hand through her hair as she regarded her husband. This was set to be the worst Christmas since the war. "I still can't believe all of this is happening."

"Me either," Harry said, shrugging into his jacket. He tucked his wand into the sleeve. "I'm trying not to think about what could happen if this escalates to mass killings… We're not prepared for that."

"I know." Ginny walked Harry to the front door where Theo was standing. He was texting, presumably Blaise. "You be careful too," she told him.

"I'll do my best," he said, tucking the mobile away and then opening the door. "Are we ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry replied and then turned once more toward Ginny. "I love you. Be safe tomorrow." He kissed her, not even caring that Theo was standing there smirking the entire time. He was about to head out into danger, and he wanted Ginny to know precisely how he felt about her before doing so.

Theo cleared his throat to regain their attention, earning him a not so decent finger from Ginny in reply. He smiled and stepped outside, to give them one more moment alone. It wasn't long before he heard the quiet mutterings of final goodbyes and then Harry joined him, shutting the door behind him. He waited for Harry to fasten his jacket and then they began to walk toward the apparation point.

"We're going to figure this thing out," he told Harry, shooting him a glance over his shoulder.

"I know," Harry replied. "I just wish it hadn't come to this."

"Me too, mate. Me too."

. . . .

221B was silent as midnight crept ever closer. Sherlock stood alone by the front window, watching as a stray cab drove by every once in a while. He ought to head upstairs to John's old room and sleep for a few hours, but something was amiss. He could feel it in his bones. The city seemed far too quiet, and there was an uneasy current as if everyone was just waiting for the second shoe to drop. Idly, Sherlock wondered if he had fallen asleep and this was all a dream.

It was preposterous, of course, considering the amount of caffeinated tea he'd consumed throughout the evening. Nevertheless, the thought had crossed his mind. There was something amiss though, and he knew he would find out shortly if only he could wait that long. Something was keeping him from straying outward into the city. Hermione. He knew it had to be her sleeping form in the other room that was keeping him bound here.

For some odd reason, Sherlock felt like he needed to remain at the flat to keep her safe. If he ventured into London then surely something horrifying would happen to her. This afternoon and evening had been different with her, and he had been left feeling slightly hopeful in regards to the strange woman. It was just the night before where he'd thought he was losing his mind and now he felt more comfortable with her being here. In fact, he would prefer she stay until whoever was causing the disturbance in the city was captured.

Narrowing his eyes, it was then that Sherlock noticed an approaching vehicle outside. His frown increased upon realising it was Lestrade. No sooner had the car pulled up to the curb than his mobile began to ring. Sherlock answered it before it could go to a second.

"What happened?" he inquired, staring down at the parked car.

"There's been a murder, and we suspect it's tied to all the other attacks," Lestrade explained over the phone. "Will you come?"

Glancing back at his closed bedroom door, Sherlock felt something in his chest tighten with worry. "I need to speak with Mrs Hudson first, but yes. I'll follow you. Text me the address."

He didn't wait for a response before hanging up the phone and striding across the room. Quickly, he donned his jacket and scarf before hurrying down the stairs. Two sharp knocks on Mrs Hudson door was sufficient to bring her forth.

"Sherlock?" she inquired sleepily, pulling her robe closed around her nightdress. "It's nearly midnight. What's wrong?"

"There's been a murder in the case, Mrs Hudson. I must go, and I do not want Hermione left alone upstairs," he explained, reaching out and taking her hand. He tugged her forward and then gently shoved her toward the stairs. "Please sleep upstairs until I return."

"Well," she said, clearly upset by this turn of events. "I suppose I can do that…"

"Good. You know where I keep the weapons." Turning he was fully prepared to leave when Mrs Hudson's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You're worried about what might happen to Hermione."

Sherlock's eyes fell closed as his hand wrapped around the door handle. Clenching his jaw, he tried to think of an appropriate response. They may have been true, her words, but the work was far more important right now. Without turning around, he merely said, "I'll be home when I can. Make sure you keep her safe."

Then he opened the door and walked out into the cold night air. He would text John in the morning. Until then, he would try and solve this case on his own. There was no reason to wake John and Mary. It would only worry them to death. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the hour. It was Christmas.


	6. 25 December

**Author's Note:** I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas, if you celebrate. I do apologize for this being a day late but I had the migraine from hell yesterday. I'm going to try and get today's chapter out tonight as well, but it might not happen. Tomorrow I will be travelling so there may not be an update until Friday. Just bear with me. I have the story mostly finished and will do my best to get it to you as I had intended. Anyway, thank you for reading along! Enjoy!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **25 December 2018**

Hermione woke up to a message from Harry that was far from encouraging. Sighing, she pushed to sit against the pillows and headboard so she could reread what he sent. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand showed that it was just after nine in the morning so she'd slept for a fair amount last night. She felt better for it but knowing she was not with her friends for Christmas was entirely disappointing.

 _Hermione, I just wanted to let you know things have taken a bit of a turn here. Please stay safe, and we'll come for you as soon as we can. We miss and love you dearly. It's certainly not the same without you. Happy Christmas!_

Yes, she thought, that was definitely not the text she'd hoped to wake up to this morning. Closing her eyes, she really just wanted to go back to sleep and hope to wake up and find this entire ordeal to be a nightmare. That was absurd, of course, but it couldn't hurt to dream every now and then. Shaking off the remainder of her sleepiness, Hermione decided to throw back the covers and get the day started. Somehow she'd managed to get everyone's knitted gifts finished and wrapped last night despite Sherlock's curious stares from where he sat in the kitchen.

It was hard having somebody so close but feel like they were so far away. Hermione hadn't been bothered by his presence which she found comfort in, and she suspected that he was enjoying her company as well. Going to the dresser, she opened the top drawer and pulled out a few clothing items that Mary had given her to wear while she was staying there. She had been kind enough to bring them over a couple days ago after John had told his wife that she had nothing but the clothes on her back when she arrived. John had also insisted that Sherlock give her a single drawer in his dresser, so the detective had cleared out his fancy socks to make room for her things.

Sherlock grumbled a bit about the entire thing, but when John assured him it was temporary, Sherlock had obliged and given into the request. It was one more thing on the ever-growing list of things Hermione would have to thank them for when it came time to leave. Now it seemed as though she was bound to stay longer than any of them initially thought. She would forever be grateful for everything that they had done for her in her time of need. Hopefully, the gifts that she made would show just a fraction of that gratefulness.

After getting dressed carefully because her injuries were still somewhat fresh, Hermione gathered her presents and carried them out into the main room. There was a tray of fresh tea and biscuits on the coffee table but no sign of Mrs Hudson. Hermione suspected that she had dropped off the plate when she heard Hermione moving around and then disappeared back downstairs to finish preparing for the day herself. Smiling at her thoughtfulness, Hermione carried the presents over to the tree she'd helped Mrs Hudson finish decorating and placed them underneath. It definitely hurt her ribs to bend over but she would endure.

Deciding she should probably take her pain medicine and eat something, she headed over to the tray and made herself a cup of tea to wash down the medicine tablets. After doing just that, she helped herself to a few biscuits and relaxed on the sofa as she waited for Mrs Hudson to return upstairs. She recalled her saying something about a light breakfast the day before, so that was probably where she had gone. Idly, Hermione pulled the mobile out of her pocket to see if there were any other messages from Harry or even John or Mary. She was actually surprised to find another name listed on the screen as having sent a message through.

Sherlock.

Not quite knowing what to expect, Hermione swiped the phone to life and quickly read through what he had sent. She smiled and then reread the message...

 _Hermione, I may not make it for Christmas supper. Your gift is in the kitchen. Regards._

Grinning stupidly, Hermione set the mobile on the sofa and pushed to her feet, completely ignoring the pain that shot through her chest at the sudden movement. She shuffled towards the kitchen and looked around in search what Sherlock would consider a gift because she knew it wouldn't be wrapped in the traditional sense. Sure enough, she found a small package sitting in the middle of the table. It was covered in simple paper with a red ribbon but no bow. She had no idea what it could be until she reached out and took it in hand.

Hermione contemplated waiting to open it with everyone else, but for some reason, she felt like this needed to be done in private. Taking the gift with her, she retreated to the back bedroom and shut the door before sitting on the bed and staring down at the package once more. Flipping it over, she's used her fingernail to break through the ribbon and then unwrapped the paper to find a curious thing indeed. It was a wooden box, apparently made for keeping small trinkets. It was about twelve inches long and made from beautiful wood that she suspected was mahogany. There was carving around the rim of the lid that reminded her strangely of her wand.

Hermione opened the lid and looked inside. It was empty, but she could store many things like jewellery or even her wand if she so chooses. She wondered why Sherlock felt she needed such a thing, but she cherished the gift anyway. It was a beautiful box, and she would undoubtedly find a use for it when she was back home in her own flat. For now, she would use it to keep her medicine and other oddities that she collected in the few days she had been staying at 221B Baker Street. Tracing over the pattern with her fingers after she closed the lid once more, Hermione wondered even further why Sherlock would want to get her a gift. She would need to thank him later when he finally arrived home.

Setting the box gently on the nightstand, she, in fact, put a few things inside of it like her medicine and some chapstick before returning to the front room. She was surprised to find that Mrs Hudson had returned and was currently setting up breakfast at the kitchen table which had been cleaned off of Sherlock things at some point. The landlady gave Hermione a sweet smile and gestured for her to sit. Hermione supposed Mrs Hudson had probably seen the gift and knew precisely what she had been up to before coming back into the kitchen. Nevertheless, she tried to fight the blush she knew was probably creeping on her cheeks and settled into the chair she usually sat when they had meals together.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs Hudson, she said. Mrs Hudson leaned over to give her a hug. "The tea was lovely, but this breakfast looks amazing."

"Happy Christmas, Hermione dear." Mrs Hudson released her from the embrace and sat down at one of the other chairs. "I know this is not what you're used to, but I hope that I can ease the pain of being apart from your friends on this special day."

"Already, this day has been grander than I expected it to be and I thank you for that," Hermione said honestly, struggling to keep the emotion from overtaking her. Her eyes felt damp, and she knew that at some point today she was bound to cry over one thing or another.

"Now, dear, no tears. It's Christmas after all," Mrs Hudson said, handing her some toast. "Tuck-in and eat up because Mary, John, and Rosie should be here a little, and you'll probably want to take a short nap after eating all of this."

"You're probably right," Hermione admitted. Combined with her medicine, larger meals always did make her rather sleepy these days. She suspected it probably had something to do with the attack and all the healing she still had to do. "Have you seen Sherlock this morning," she questioned as she took a piece of sausage onto her fork.

Mrs Hudson smiled. "I saw him late last night and then again early this morning, but I suspect he won't be here until supper time," Mrs Hudson explained.

"I didn't hear him leave either time," Hermione admitted. "I was hoping to give him his gift today, but I can wait."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to receive a gift from you no matter when it may happen," Mrs Hudson said slyly, winking at Hermione, so she did so.

"I heard from Harry this morning," Hermione continued as they ate. "He seems to think it wise for me to stay here even though they miss me dearly."

"I can't imagine what it's like to be away from your friends. I'm so sorry," Mrs Hudson said, reaching out to pat her on the hand.

"It is hard," Hermione said. "However, I'm very thankful for you and everyone else for including me."

"We don't mind, dear. It's fun having someone new around to celebrate with." Mrs Hudson went back to eating, but she continued to talk about all the lovely things they would do later that day once everyone arrived.

Hermione sat there quietly eating her breakfast and occasionally nodding her head to acknowledge something that was said. She kept thinking back to the wooden box Sherlock had purchased for her and what it could mean. For all she knew, he might have just randomly picked it up at the shop, knowing he had better get her something since he knew she was making him something in return. Whatever the reason, Hermione was determined to ask him as soon as she got the chance later that night or whenever he arrived home that day.

. . . .

"Look," Ron said, trying to keep his voice low so that his parents and the children in the other room did not hear. "I get that there is a murderer on the loose, but how is keeping Hermione away for the best?"

"I don't like it either," Ginny replied, sighing. She continued to arrange biscuits on a tray to set out with the hot cocoa and tea the family was waiting for in the other room. "I really don't like that my husband is being forced to work on Christmas, but it is what it is, Ron. There's someone out there targeting, and we have to be careful."

Ron plopped down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I hate this. I sort of wish I still worked at the Ministry so I could be out there helping."

"Well," Ginny said after placing the last biscuit on the tray before joining her brother at the table. "If things keep up, they'll probably start asking for volunteers. You can help out then."

"This is such a mess," Ron muttered, eyes full of sadness. "I miss Hermione and Harry."

"Me too," Ginny agreed. "I know some people have it way worse than we do, but I feel like it's not even Christmas, you know?"

"Exactly." Ron went to reach for a biscuit and Ginny didn't even bother to swat his hand away. He knew she must be feeling rather upset seeing as she'd decorated the tray so beautifully. After eating the biscuit, he tried to gather his thoughts.

Ginny frowned, sensing that Ron was keeping something from her. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Pansy is pregnant again," he told his sister. "We were going to tell everyone today, but now we feel like it's not the right time."

Despite the situation, Ginny broke into a broad grin. "Ron, that's fantastic news. The best I've heard in days. Honestly, you should still share. It will definitely brighten everyone's spirits."

"You think so?" Ron asked sceptically. He really didn't want to try and cover up what was happening in the Wizarding world, but after their first child, he and Pansy had such a hard time getting pregnant again. This was a surprise for both of them and a miracle if he was honest. He wanted to scream it from the top of the Quidditch stadium.

"Absolutely," Ginny gushed, unable to hide her joy. "The kids are all going to be thrilled! Mum and dad are too. Do you think Finn is going to be excited to be a big brother?"

"I'm not sure," Ron admitted. "He's going to be heading off to Hogwarts next year. He might feel a bit left out with there being a new baby at home while he's away."

"As long as you send him lots of care packages and letters, he'll be fine," Ginny advised. "James was always a little weary about being forgotten when he went away, and Albus and Lily were still at home. It'll be fine. I promise."

"Yeah," Ron said with a wry grin. "You're right. I am rather excited. We think it's going to be a girl."

"That's lovely. I'm really happy for you." She reached out and placed her hand overtop his and smiled. "Go and talk with Pansy. You two definitely need to share this news. Even though I still miss Hermione like crazy and I desperately wish Harry was here, I feel slightly uplifted. Good news always brightens the darkest of times."

Standing from the table, Ron decided his sister was right. He pulled her up and enveloped her in his arms. "I love you, Gin. I swear you're the best sister."

"I'm you're only sister… Well, if you don't counter Hermione," Ginny teased. Untangling herself from the embrace, she nudged Ron toward the living room. "Now go and find Pansy so you can share your good news. I'll bring the cookies in and distract everyone while you two sneak away to discuss it."

Instead of replying, Ron snagged another cookie and ducked from the room before Ginny could smack him for doing so. Ginny just shook her head instead. Today was definitely not the Christmas she'd planned, but it would be alright. Harry would be home at some point and hopefully with answers. It would be okay. Everything would be alright in the end… She hoped.

. . . .

Standing in the rain, Sherlock and glowered at having been told to step away from the crime scene. He'd had unimpeded access for most of the night but then the other task force had arrived, and he'd been shoved aside. There were two off men in charge of the force, one of which Sherlock swore looked familiar. He couldn't place the man, though, so he just continued to glare at him from time to time. If he was going to help Lestrade solve this murder case, then he was going to need access before the rain washed all the evidence away.

"Sherlock," John muttered from beside him. "When can we leave? It's freezing, for one, and two…It's bloody Christmas." Pulling his coat tighter around him, John gave him a pleading stare.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock bit back his first retort. Honestly, he'd forgotten all about the holiday and what it might mean for John to be at home with Mary and Rosie right now. In fact, Sherlock paused to glance at his pocket watch… It was well after the time in which Mrs Hudson demanded he show his face in the living room. Apparently, there was to be some sort of festive party that he was required to attend. They hardly ever had this sort of affair but since they had a guest…

Speaking of which, he'd left a gift for Hermione not really knowing what she may need. He did it at Mrs Hudson's suggestion since the woman was knitting herself into a frenzy making them all gifts. He knew she was preparing a scarf for him, but he'd never really purchased a gift for someone. In the end, he'd found a wooden trinket box that somewhat matched the off markings on the stick he'd procured from her jacket. Perhaps she could keep it in there if he ever returned it to her. That decision was very much still up for debate. She may have opened up to him a bit more, but he still had no idea who she was or where she came from. Everything seemed so strange in regards to that situation.

"Sherlock?" John questioned again, pulling him from his thoughts.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock nodded. "Yes, Fine. You may go ahead, John. I'll join you later."

"Come on, Sherlock," John practically whined. "You've been here all night. Come home with me. It's Christmas."

"I know what day it is," Sherlock drawled, pulling his eyes away from the crime scene to stare at his friend. "However, there is a case to be solved and you know I will not rest until I see the suspect brought to justice."

"I know," John replied, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I just thought you might want to come and spend some time with Hermione and us too. She's probably feeling pretty down today."

"I left her present in the flat. She has probably already opened it." Sherlock nearly missed John's wide-eyed response as he turned back to the crime scene. Nearly. Sighing heavily, he said, "I am well aware you are insinuating that I have some sort of feelings for the girl. I would like to remind you that she is simply a woman in need of a place to stay while she heels. I bought her a present because she knitted me a scarf. You'll love the socks she made for you. Exactly what you could use right now with those old shoes of yours."

John decided not to say anything about Sherlock's budding interest in Hermione. He'd noticed a change since the night the detective helped her from the bath. Since then, the two could hardly keep their eyes off of one another whenever they were in the same room. Even Mrs Hudson noticed a difference in the pair. It was only a matter of time before something transpired between them.

Deciding there was no point in arguing with Sherlock any longer John, removed one hand from his pocket and reach out to squeeze the detective's shoulder. "Okay, but please promise you won't stay out here in the cold all day and night. It is Christmas after all. You should come home and be with people that care about you and not corpses and crime scenes."

Glancing at his shoulder where John touched him, Sherlock thought about what he been told. It was Christmas, and he was cold, but there was a case to solve. Backing away from his friend, he started to ease his way back into the crime scene. "I'll be home when I can," he told John. "This case is important and must be solved." Without another word, Sherlock headed back towards the crime scene Lestrade had banished him from earlier.

John watched him go. He desperately wished that Sherlock had someone that he would want to spend time with on such a cherished holiday. John was ready for a hot cup of tea and to spend time with Mary and Rosie, as well as Mrs Hudson, Molly, and even Hermione. With one final glance at his friend, John turned and headed back out to the main street where he could catch a cab to Baker Street. There is no use arguing with Sherlock He would do what he wanted just as he has always done.

. . . .

In the midst of the crime scene, Theo turned to Harry and pointed across the street. "You see that man over there in the long jacket with the floppy hair?"

"Yeah," said Harry, scribbling something on his notepad with a quill. "What about him." He continued writing down some notes about the crime scene, hating that his former classmate was currently underneath a sheet at his feet.

"That's Sherlock Holmes," Theo stated simply, enjoying the way Harry's head snapped up to pay attention now. Smirking, he added, "I have a feeling he recognises me from the other night, but he doesn't quite remember well enough."

Harry rolled his eyes and returned to his task. "You really ought to not get involved and Muggle affairs," he muttered, hoping that none of the officers from Scotland Yard would overhear phrase 'Muggle affairs'. "It's bad enough we have to leave Hermione with him let alone messing with his mind, Theo."

Waving away Harry's comment, Theo bent over to further examine the body as well. He said, "it's just a bit of fun. No harm. Beside,s we both know now that we have something substantial to work with, we'll catch the killer quickly."

"There's no guarantee of that," Harry said, flipping his notebook shut and tucking it back inside his robes. He glanced towards Sherlock Holmes, who was conversing with a shorter, greying man. He had no idea who that one was, but he suspected that it was Doctor John Watson who was known to associate with Holmes. "Like I told you earlier unless he made a mistake, we could be looking at a much longer time scheme on this case than we originally thought. Plus, who's to say he doesn't kill again?"

For a long while, Theo didn't say anything at all. He just continued doing his job. Harry let him work while continuing to watch Holmes and Watson from across the street. He'd had them ordered away so that they could use minimal magic to examine the road. Luckily, they discovered that Creevy had been murdered by magic and then strangled to make it look like a Muggle had done the killing. Whoever they were dealing with was smart, but they had ways of detection now, but they didn't have back during the former War. Hopefully, they could figure this one out before anyone else died, but one can ever be sure.

Finally finished with this task, Theo brushed his palms together to remove any dust. "Look, Potter, we're doing what we can with what we know, and we'll figure things out. I think that maybe we should take what we have managed to gather and head back to the Ministry so we can report into Kingsley." Shrugging, he added, "Maybe then the Minister will allow us to go home to our families for Christmas dinner at the very least. It's not like we're going to get much else done with Scotland Yard all over this place."

"You're probably right," Harry said, crossing his arms and glancing around at all the officers. They were certainly impeding their use of magic. Glancing around, Harry nodded across the street with his chin. "It looks like the Holmes fellow is interested in getting back into the investigation. He's on his way back over here now."

Theo's smirk only grew as he turned to see what Harry was talking about. Sure enough, Sherlock Holmes was striding their way, a determined look on his regal face. Theo knew he should probably behave himself, but there was just something about Sherlock Holmes that intrigued him and made him want to torture him in any way possible. Maybe it was the way he appeared so stuck-up despite being perfectly aloof. Whatever the case, Theo was about to have some fun even if it would cause him to be chastised by Harry later on.

"Sorry, mate, you're going to have to wait. We need a bit more time here," Theo said as Sherlock finished his approach. He gestured to the body at his feet and then at the rest of the crime scene. "I'm sure that a detective of you are nature can understand, eh?"

Sherlock quirked a single eyebrow and gave both Theo and Harry the once-over. "I believe we have yet to be introduced," he said, sticking out one hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective."

"Theodore Nott," he replied, sticking out his own hand and grasping Sherlock's. He shook briefly and then stuck with his hands in his pockets. "I suppose you'll be wanting us to get out of your way then?"

Harry muttered something about needing to speak with one of the other officers and ducked out before Sherlock could ask who he was. He figured at this point Hermione might have mentioned his name to the man and he didn't want any complicated questions to arise because of that. Their primary goal was to keep her safe after all, and if Sherlock found out they were involved in this case, then everything could become quite confusing. There was no way they could reveal their involvement in the Wizarding World or the fact that Hermione was attacked by a wizard. Oh and the fact that the man at their feet used to go to a magical school.

Sherlock watched the other man go, confused as to why he didn't introduce himself. Nevertheless, he returned his attention to the man before him. "I don't mind if you stay, but I would like permission to continue investigating the crime scene."

"I hadn't realised that your permissions were revoked," Theo acknowledged, although he knew that Inspector Lestrade had asked Sherlock and Watson to step away while they came in and conducted their own search of the crime scene. "I'm just finishing up here. You're more than welcome to continue whatever it is you were doing before our arrival." He stepped away from the body and crossed his arms before tilting his head and giving Sherlock a questioning stare. It was time to have a bit of fun.

Sherlock didn't like the way this man was looking at him, so he crossed his arms and mimicked his stance before saying, "Is there something you were wondering?"

"Not really," Theo said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He hadn't had a chance to shave that morning seeing as he hadn't been home since last night. "It's just that you look sort of familiar. Would I know you from somewhere?"

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock tried to place the man before him but could not. "I do not believe we've ever met before this occasion." However, even as he said this, he found himself wondering if they had met once before.

Shrugging, Theo decided that was enough of a seed to plant for the time being. "Oh well. Anyway, the crime scene is yours. Just try not to disturb the body. It's supposed to be removed soon, but we may have a few more things to look over before it goes."

Sherlock nodded and then Theo smiled before walking toward where Harry was standing. The Head Auror was discussing something with Detective Inspector Lestrade and giving him a curious stare. He merely smiled to assure Harry he hadn't done anything too horrible to Sherlock. After all, he had Hermione best interests at heart just as Harry did. He merely wanted to play with the detective's mind a bit. It would be fine. Theo waited patiently for Harry to finish his conversation.

When Harry joined him, he asked, "What did the inspector have to say?"

"He just wanted to let me know he's allowing us access to any evidence he and his team has from the night of the twentieth," Harry explained, rubbing his cold hands together.

"Maybe by piecing together what they have with what we've discovered we'll be able to pinpoint a culprit," Theo said thoughtfully.

"That's what I was thinking too," Harry said, glancing over to where Sherlock was examining the bruises on Dennis Creevey's neck. He shuddered and then returned his attention to Theo. "What were you saying to him?"

"I just mentioned that he looked familiar," Theo said, wagging his eyebrows up and down. When Harry rolled his eyes, he added, "I didn't insinuate that we knew each other from a couple nights ago. Don't worry, he probably just thinks I've seen him around at crime scene before."

"You do realise he's one of the best detectives in the country, right?" Harry asked, placing a hand on Theo's shoulder and steering him away from the crime scene. They needed to head back to the Ministry and give Kingsley a report on what they'd discovered. "If he thinks on it too much, we might find ourselves the centre of his attention. We don't really need that right now. We're trying to keep the magical world a secret despite the Muggle authorities having been called for many of the attacks."

"It'll be fine, Potter," Theo teased, allowing his partner and friend to steer him toward a safe place to apparate. "I didn't give anything away. I promise."

Harry merely shook his head as they disappeared around a corner, free from the prying eyes of Sherlock Holmes and the others. There would be time to argue the issue later. For now, they needed to get back and try to crack this case. Both of them wanted to be with their families at some point. If they lingered, time would be wasted. Besides, it would be getting dark sooner rather than later, and there was nothing left for them at the crime scene. Once the body had been removed and examined by a coroner, they may have more answers. For now, they would do what they could with what they had.

. . . .

Despite the dismal start to her day, Hermione had to admit this Christmas wasn't nearly as horrible as it could have been. Everyone loved their gifts, even John who arrived later in the day due to helping Sherlock at some crime scene. Apparently, there had been a murder, and he was out investigating. John told them how he'd tried convincing Sherlock to come home, but the detective was persistent. As he explained this, he'd taken off his shoes and placed his news knitted socks overtop his old ones. He and Rosie had fallen asleep in the chair by the fire not long after dinner.

Mrs Hudson and Mary prepared a delicious meal for everyone that included a pot roast and mashed potatoes. Hermione ate more than she had in days and was so relaxed she nearly joined John and Rosie in a nap. If it hadn't been for Molly Hooper's constant storytelling, she would have fallen asleep quickly. Molly, who she learned worked at St. Bart's, was a lovely character. Hermione found her job a bit morbid, but the woman seemed to love it so she could find no fault in that. There were times where Hermione was sure other people thought her work to be a bit strange for a woman like herself. It didn't matter as long as you were happy.

All day long Hermione hoped for a message from Harry that they'd solved the case and she could come home, but no such luck. It was hard not to reach for the mobile every free moment she had, but somehow she managed. Mrs Hudson kept everyone's drinks full, and Mary kept the conversation flowing. By the time early evening arrived, Hermione was most certainly ready for more medicine and a good night's sleep. Molly was the first to leave, stating she had another party to pop in at before heading home for the night. Mary woke John shortly after that and prepared Rosie to leave. John was surprised to find that Sherlock was still not back.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Mary assured him as she handed him his jacket. "You know how he is when he's working a case."

"I do, and that's why I worry," John replied with a frown. He shrugged into the coat and then took Rosie into his arms so Mary could don hers as well. "He'll stay out all night if someone doesn't make him come home."

"Shoot him a text then," Mary said simply. She turned and gave Mrs Hudson a quick hug and then wandered over to Hermione. "It was lovely to spend today with you. Thank you for the blanket for Rosie and the new mittens." She gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"You're welcome, Mary. I can't thank you all enough for the wonderful day you've given me," Hermione said honestly. She had to swallow back the lump that formed in her throat. They all really had gone out of their way to make today special.

"It was nothing," Mrs Hudson chimed in as she too prepared to head down to her own flat. "We enjoyed having a reason to have a larger celebration than normal."

"It's a shame Sherlock missed it all," Hermione said with a frown. She missed the smirk Mary gave John or the way Mrs Hudson's eyes lit up at her remark. "Anyway, I hope to see you all again soon. Hopefully, before I leave."

"Of course," John said as he tucked his new mobile into his jacket pocket. He's told Hermione she could keep his old one. "Plus, I'll be back tomorrow evening to check your injuries."

Hermione just nodded and then watched as one by one they all left. Soon, she was alone again, so she wandered over to the window and watched as the rain slowly turned into snow flurries. A few cars and a cab or two drove by, but still, there was no sign of Sherlock. Sighing, Hermione returned to the sofa and curled up underneath a blanket. Even though she was a tad sleepy, she wanted to wait up for a while in case he came home.

She grabbed the book she'd been reading the night before and soon was lost in the text. Minutes turned into hours, and before she knew it, Hermione could barely keep her eyes open any longer. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was well after ten. Setting aside the book, Hermione stood and began turning out the lights in each room. Pausing, in front of the Christmas tree, she contemplated turning that off too, but something held her back.

The Christmas lights that adorned the tree made the dark room seem a bit more homey, especially since she felt so homesick being separated from her friends. She wondered what they were currently up to and felt her heart ache at the loss. Soon, she thought. Soon she would return to her life in the wizarding world, and all would be well again. Smiling softly at the lights, she decided to leave the tree lit for both her and when Sherlock finally returned home. It would light his way, so he didn't stumble in the dark.

Starting to walk down the hall toward the back bedroom she was currently using, she was startled at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Holding her breath, she stood perfectly still as she waited on whoever was ascending the staircase to be revealed. When she saw Sherlock's head appear, a sigh of relief left her lips in a rush that called his attention to her. She took a tentative step toward him and nodded. He did the same and walked into the main room. Taking a chance, she followed after him.

"I was just going to go to bed," Hermione told Sherlock as he removed his jacket and hung it by the door. She hesitated and then added, "I left your gift under the tree." She pointed to where a small package sat. She'd wrapped it in red paper with a white bow. Simple. "Thank you for the trinket box. It was beautiful."

"You're welcome," Sherlock stated merely as he paused by the tree.

Hermione watched as he stopped to pick up his present and then waited with bated breath as he returned to full height. In the light from the tree, she could see how tired he was, and how handsome as well. Nibbling her lip nervously, she lost herself in the movement of his hands as he untied the ribbon and removed the wrapping. When he took the scarf she handmade from the box, she held her breath, praying that he liked her token of appreciation.

"This is quite lovely," he told her, turning it over in his hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione practically whispered, her mouth having gone dry. She had no idea why she felt so nervous right now. It was just a scarf and Sherlock was just the man she was living with temporarily. It wasn't as if she had feelings for him. She hardly knew him for Merlin's sake. "I wanted to make you something, as a way of saying thank you for allowing me to stay here while I recover."

"I already told you that it was not a problem for you to remain here," Sherlock said, setting aside the box and wrappings. He touched the soft scarf for a moment before looping it around his neck.

Smiling slightly at Sherlock for trying on her gift, she said, "I know, but it just felt right." He nodded and then she boldly added, "We missed you today. Mrs Hudson made a wonderful dinner. I think she left you a plate in the refrigerator if you're hungry. I can warm it for you."

Shaking his head, Sherlock said, "No, that it alright. I typically do not eat when I'm working a case. I may sleep for a few hours, but that will be all."

"Are you sure? I don't mind," she started to say, but Sherlock held up his hand.

"Hermione," he began, taking a step toward where she stood in the doorway. "It has been a long day for you. Take your medicine and get some sleep. If I grow hungry in the middle of the night, I can warm the plate myself. Thank you again for the scarf. Goodnight." And with that, he brushed past her and up the stairs to John's old bedroom.

Hermione watched as he went, something akin to disappointment and rejection making her chest ache in an entirely different way. She wished she knew why he was so distant all the time, especially with her. Any hope that the scarf would bring them closer together was squashed as the bedroom door upstairs clocked shut. With a heavy sigh, Hermione shook her head and went to bed. Still, she left the Christmas lights on in the flat. She needed them to keep her heart from breaking, though she knew not why.

. . . .


	7. 26 December

**Author's Note:** I honestly don't know why I thought I would be able to stick to a regular update schedule for once… Honestly, things always pop up. As it is, I have to attend a funeral out of town tomorrow and won't be back until Sunday. Hopefully, I can get the next chapter finished edited and up for you on Monday at the latest. I swear this was never my intent! Anyway, I hope you're still enjoying everything. Thanks for sticking around!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **26 December 2018**

Christmas seemingly flew by, and with it, Hermione's hopes of being saved by Harry. In fact, she hadn't heard from him again after the message yesterday morning. He had been so brief, telling her that matters had yet to be resolved at the Ministry and that she was safest laying low. With the New Year literally around the corner, Hermione was starting to think that things may be worse than initially assumed. She just wished Harry could tell her more about what was happening. She hated being in the dark. At least, now, she didn't feel as much a burden as before.

Ever since the night Sherlock helped her get out of the bath and then offered her his bed, he'd been much more accommodating to her presence in 221B. With John busy with work, Mary, and Rosie, he hardly had the time to keep popping in multiple times a day to check on her recovery, but he did his best. Sherlock, on the other hand, was there more often than not, and suddenly eager to make sure she was on the mend. Hermione wondered if he were hoping she would leave soon or if he had ulterior motives. Then again, they'd both managed to give the other a Christmas present...

Despite Sherlock spending more time in the flat when he wasn't out working cases, Hermione still found herself feeling lonely. When Mrs Hudson couldn't come upstairs for one reason or another and Sherlock was out on a case, she found herself wanting for company. Her ribs were healing quickly now that she was able to rest for over a week without pushing herself. This made moving about the flat a lot easier too. It allowed her to do more in the flat, and not just knitting now that Christmas was over. As she perused the bookshelves against the back wall, Hermione thought about what it might be like to get some fresh air.

Biting her lip, she dropped her hand from the spines of the books to glance out the window. Sighing heavily, she turned her attention to the people walking the pavement and the cars driving by. What she wouldn't do to be out there with them… Laughing at her silliness, she turned away from both the window and the books and gasped. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, somehow having come in without alerting her to his presence.

"You should be resting," he said by way of greeting, eyes roving over her form as if searching for a decline in her progress of healing.

"You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on me like that," Hermione pointed out, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the pull in her chest from her broken ribs. She also ignored the flutter in her stomach at seeing Sherlock.

"Why are you not resting?" He continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. Walking to the mantle, he picked up the mail and began to rifle through it. Hermione noticed a few bills and a couple letters but nothing that stuck out as out of the ordinary.

"I was bored of lying around in bed, and there's no reason to knit anymore," Hermione explained easily. She shrugged as he briefly glanced her way, the mail momentarily forgotten. "Besides, I've read all the books in your bedroom and needed new material."

Setting the mail back on the mantle, Sherlock picked up the knife he kept there and stabbed it through the envelopes. "I had at least twenty odd books in that room. You have read them all?" Sherlock was standing in front of her now, staring down into her brown eyes as if searching for something.

"I did. I'm a fast reader, and learner. Actually, as much as I hate it, I'm known as the brightest wi-woman of my age." She chuckled, absolutely hating that endearment, and also at the fact she'd almost slipped up and revealed she was a witch. That would certainly make things more difficult, wouldn't it? Luckily, Sherlock either didn't notice, or he chose to ignore her mistake.

"Hmm." His eyes flickered over her and then he stepped around her, heading toward the door. Donning his coat and scarf, he said, "Rest. Take the medicine John left for you. I'll be back this evening." And then he was gone, sweeping from the room and hurrying down the stairs.

Confused, Hermione went to the window and watched as Sherlock exited the building. He looked both ways before hailing a cab which quickly stopped and allowed him to slide inside. As the cab drove away, Hermione was left feeling alone and utterly lost. Why was he always doing this? All this time and still she felt like she knew little to nothing about the consulting detective. Granted, she wasn't entirely truthful with him either, but still, she managed to reveal snippets of herself to him. Where was he going and why?

Yawning despite the earliness of the day, Hermione decided to heed his words and made her way to the back bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she looked around the room. It was still lit by the Christmas lights Mrs Hudson had hung above the bed, but it appeared much more organised than that first time she'd glanced inside. Had Sherlock tidied up the room without her realising? Why would he do that? It's not like she minded the clutter of discarded books, teacups, and clothing all that much. In truth, her room at home often ended up looking quite similar from time to time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione took medicine prescribed to her by Dr Watson. Figuring she had nothing better to do, she curled up on the bed, pulling the cover overtop her body. Unsure as to why a feeling of dread came over her as she thought about how long she'd been staying here. She needed to get out Baker Street and back to the Ministry and her world. The longer she remained, the more of a risk she became. She didn't need Sherlock or John figuring out she was a witch. As sleep took her, Hermione wondered what was happening in her world that required her to stay away.

. . . .

"I need to know what you discovered about that body," Sherlock practically demanded of Molly as he burst into her laboratory. The doors banged off the wall, but he paid them no mind as he only was worried about the case right now.

Startled, Molly dropped the files she was holding and whirled around to face her friend. "Sherlock!" she gasped, clutching at her chest as her heart raced from fear. "You can't just go sneaking up on people like that. You'll give someone a heart attack."

"You're in perfect health, Molly. A slight scare will do nothing but make your adrenaline rush,"

Sherlock said absently as he stooped to pick up the fallen files. Standing he handed them to her and frowned. "And oddly enough, you are the second person to say such a thing to me today."

"Really?" Molly inquired with raised eyebrows as she accepted the folders. Frowning, she found herself curious as to why Sherlock picked them up in the first place. He often didn't realise the rude things he did. Something had changed. Setting her work on the lab table, she turned her attention to her friend and asked, "Who was the other?"

"Hermione," he answered without emotion. "What did you discover?"

Molly wondered what Sherlock had done but decided against asking. Instead, she said, "Hermione? I liked her a lot. She seems like a really nice person. It's a shame that she was attacked like that. I hope she'll get to go home soon."

Rolling his eyes at Molly's obvious distraction, Sherlock said, "The body, Molly. What do you know? I have a case to solve."

"Alright, fine," Molly snapped playfully as she reached out to flip open one of the folders. "It was really odd, actually. While there was bruising on the neck that would ultimately indicate affixation as the cause of death, Creevey was dead before the strangling."

"What do you believe the cause to be?" Sherlock asked, accepting the folder when Molly handed it over. He scanned her notes briefly but wanted to hear what she had to say in addition to the logistics of the situation.

"Magic?" Molly teased but grew serious when he shot her a glare. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never seen this before. It appears he just died out of the blue, but there was nothing wrong with his heart or any of his other internal organs. Whatever happened to him is a mystery to me."

"I was afraid you were going to say something of that nature," Sherlock muttered, closing the folder and tossing it back onto the lab table. What he didn't say was that he was now at a dead end with no possible way to move forward with the case. How do you solve a murder when the death was caused by an unknown force? It was madness. He'd only have to wait for the murderer to strike again and hopefully make a mistake.

"I wish I had more information for you, Sherlock," Molly said, smiling sadly. She hated when she couldn't help the detective out. "The victim's family is hoping to collect the body tomorrow. Maybe you can stop by and talk with them?"

"No," Sherlock stated simply. "I don't believe it will do any good with the case. This is an extraordinary circumstance."

They were both silent for a while, each mulling over the case and the mysterious death. Deciding there could be no harm in it, Molly cleared her throat and pulled Sherlock's attention back to her. "Did you like the scarf Hermione made for you?"

Narrowing his eyes toward Molly, Sherlock touched at the scarf he was wearing. It was soft and kept his neck warm from the wind as he'd walked the streets of London this morning. "It is a lovely gift."

"You thanked her, right?" Molly inquired, remembering a time when he'd made fun of her for giving him a Christmas present. It still stung slightly, but she was fine now. Sherlock would only ever be a dear friend to her, and that was perfectly alright.

Nodding, Sherlock dropped his hand and backed away, preparing to leave. "Yes. I must go now. Thank you for the information."

"You're welcome," Molly said sadly. "I just wish I could have given you more to go with. If I find anything else out, I'll be sure to let you know. And tell Hermione I said hello, please."

"I will. Perhaps you can come and visit with her again before she returns home," Sherlock said as he exited the lab. The door shut behind him and Molly was left alone once more.

Once upon a time, Molly may have been jealous of the way Sherlock's eyes lit up as he talked about Hermione. Now, though, she was merely glad her friend had found someone he could potentially find love with. He may not know it yet, but it was abundantly clear to her, as well as Mrs Hudson, John, and Mary. There was something special brewing between Sherlock and Hermione and they couldn't wait to see what became of it.

. . . .

"Mrs Hudson? Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione was sitting in what was known as John's chair while the landlady dusted the small flat. It was a chilly day, so Hermione was settled by the fireplace to keep warm. Mrs Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to her with a smile. Perching on the edge of Sherlock's chair, she gave Hermione her full attention.

"Of course, dear," Mrs Hudson replied, settling back in the chair. She had a feeling Hermione was going to inquire about Sherlock, and she was not going to be disappointed.

"Okay, it's just… It's about Sherlock." Hermione paused uncertain if it was okay to talk to Mrs Hudson about such things. After all, she was his landlady not his mother or his keeper. That was probably more John and Mary's job than anything, but they seemed awfully busy lately with the work and Rosie.

"Oh," Mrs Hudson said quietly, glancing at her hands in her lap before lifting her gaze back to Hermione. She was trying to hide her smile at being correct in her assumptions. She hoped she did a fair job. "What is it that you care to know about him?"

"Well, I was just wondering if Sherlock has anyone he cares for, really." She blushed, looking away and feeling entirely silly about even asking at all. Swallowing thickly, Hermione made to push up from the chair, but Mrs Hudson reached out and patted her knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a thing. It's not my business. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have been gone long ago."

"You're fine. Honestly." Mrs Hudson began, laughing lightly. "You are not the first one to wonder such a thing. But no, Sherlock is married to his work, or so he says anyway."

This was news to Hermione. During her time spent in 221 B, she hadn't seen Sherlock at work. He always went out when he was busy with his case. Granted, when he was there, he did spend a ridiculous amount of time browsing only Merlin knew what on his laptop. Occasionally, she did find that he ventured into the kitchen to fiddle around with his microscope, but he never really lingered for long.

"I really am sorry. I guess I just still feel like such a burden on all of you despite having been told I'm not. It's silly." Hermione ran a hand through her curls and tried to give Mrs Hudson a smile. She felt like it was off, so she stopped. "Do you think Sherlock really doesn't mind me being here, or that he's just putting on a show for my benefit since I told John how he treated me that first day?"

Mrs Hudson stood up and resumed her dusting, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk. "In my experience with Sherlock, he doesn't do things unless he wants to. He's very stubborn that way, sort of like my ex-husband." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Mrs Hudson paused again and threw Hermione a glance over her shoulder. "Honestly, Hermione, I think that your presence here has been quite beneficial to Sherlock."

"Really?" Hermione questioned, seriously struggling to see how she could have benefited Sherlock in any way when he made it so that they were never in the same room together for longer than a few moments. If anything, she felt like she was getting on his nerves with the way he talked to her.

"You might not see it now, but I think before you take your leave of us, you'll find that Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart under all that…" Here Mrs Hudson made a snooty face and gestured around herself which caused Hermione to laugh.

Her giggling made her chest ache, so she cut it off fairly quickly, but she appreciated Mrs Hudson's sense of humour all the same. "Thank you for answering my question. I know it's not really my place to ask such things of you."

"You're welcome, dear. It's really not a problem," she replied, passing by the chair and laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "We all want to see you well again. It has been lovely getting to know you. I think that, perhaps, you should take this evening and try and get Sherlock to open up about himself, as well."

"How can I do that" Hermione questioned, staring up into Mrs Hudson's kind face. "He hardly ever wants to talk to me about anything other than if I'm healing the way I should."

"You're a clever girl," Mrs Hudson noted. "I think that, between you and me, you'll be able to come up with something." Tapping the side of her nose, Mrs Hudson gave her a wink and then disappeared back downstairs to her own flat, leaving Hermione alone to contemplate what precisely the landlady meant.

. . . .

"I'm starving," Theo whined, laying his head down on the table and closing his eyes. "If I don't eat something soon, I'm going to die."

"Stop being so dramatic," Harry muttered, tugging the folder out from underneath Theo's forehead. His partner grumbled but said nothing else for a moment. We'll order lunch here in a minute, but I want to re-examine these maps first. I feel like we're missing something important."

Lifting his head, Theo pouted. "Do you know when the Creevey's are picking up Dennis's body?"

Cringing, Harry set aside the files. "I think tomorrow, but I'd have to double check."

"I'm just curious to see if the Muggles were able to figure out that something other than affixation killed him," Theo explained. "I really don't feel like sending in the Obliviation team."

"I'm fairly certain we'll be alright as long as we catch the killer."

"When we get him, what are we going to explain to Scotland Yard? They're going to want someone to put to trial and lock up in their prison." Theo ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. "That's going to be a mess and a half."

"We'll figure something out. Hell, Kingsley might already have a plan in place," Harry said, returning to his files. "Whoever is behind this knew what they were doing when they made the attacks in Muggle London. If it had happened in Diagon Alley or even Hogsmeade, we'd have a much easier time hiding this from the Muggles. By the way, how many more interviews do you have?"

"Three or four, I think," Theo said, pulling a notepad from inside his robes. "Malfoy, Zabini, which is ridiculous by the way, Flint, and Goyle." He finished reading and put the notepad away.

"I'm sorry you have to interview your husband and best friend," Harry apologised. "I know Blaise has nothing to do with this and Draco turned a new leaf, but we were given our orders. It was no walk in the park interviewing Ron."

Laughing, Theo pushed aside his irritation for the moment. "Yeah? I still wish you would have let me do that one. I would have loved to see his face when I walked in the door."

"It's probably for the best that you didn't do that then," Harry intoned, finally sitting back. Sighing heavily, he ignored a stress headache that was forming behind his eyes. "Let's go eat. I'm getting nowhere with this right now. Maybe after lunch and a headache potion, I'll be able to make some leeway with all this." He gestured at the mess of maps, case files, and interviews transcriptions on his desk.

"You're no fun, but yes; let's go and eat!" Theo jumped up from the chair and led the way from the office to the lifts. "What if we don't find anything out from these last interviews?"

"Then we start interrogating those who don't work at the Ministry," Harry said with a frown. "We start with those who are associated or have criminal backgrounds. It's horrible but what choice do we have?"

"I suppose we don't have much choice at all." Theo let Harry get on the lift first and then pressed the button to go to the Atrium. "The Prophet is already dragging our names through dragon dung. I can't imagine what they're going to say if we have to start interviewing seemingly innocent people."

"It's going to be fine, Nott," Harry said softly. "At least, we have to keep telling ourselves that."

"Maybe if we have something substantial to go on I could believe you," Theo said solemnly as the lift doors opened.

"Me too, mate. Me too."

. . . .

Hermione spent the remainder of the day trying to figure out a way she could get the elusive Sherlock to speak to her for longer than a few minutes at a time. By midafternoon, she decided it was useless and retreated to the bedroom for yet another nap. When she awoke sometime after dusk, there was still no news from Harry, but Sherlock had returned. He was standing in the front room, shuffling through papers and muttering under his breath. A case, Hermione realised. He was working on a case.

Not wanting to disturb him while he worked, she wandered into the kitchen and found the drawer where she knew John stored the take-out menus. This was how she would get him to open up to her. She'd order dinner for the two of them and then when he was finished working, they could sit down and eat together. Surely, he wouldn't have anything to say against that?

Selecting the Chinese restaurant from down the street, Hermione snuck back into the bedroom and made the call. She was surprised to find that the worker recognised John's phone number and added the total to their ongoing tab. She thanked him and then went back into the living room to wait for their dinner to arrive. In the meantime, she enjoyed watching Sherlock work; he was so focused she didn't even think he registered her presence. It was utterly fascinating to see him speak to himself as if he were talking to someone else in the room. Actually, he reminded her a bit of herself when she fell deep into a case.

Hermione was so enraptured by his process that she never even heard the knock on the door. Sherlock must have, though, his head popping up and a deep frown forming on his lips as he glanced toward the stairs. When the knock didn't sound again, he returned to his work. Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to go downstairs as of yet, but still, she pushed to her feet and started toward the door.

Mrs Hudson came through the door before she could exit, rapping her knuckles on it as she went. "Hoo hoo!" she called, earning a disgruntled sigh from Sherlock. He didn't further acknowledge her presence. "Sherlock, the carrier is here with your dinner."

"I didn't order food," he replied curtly, waving her away in favour of flipping angrily through the pages of a book.

"No," Hermione spoke up from by the door. "That was me."

"You?" Sherlock slammed the book shut and rounded on her. "Why would you do that?"

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said with a bit of a warning to her voice. "The poor girl was probably hungry, and you could use a break. You've been on this case for over a week now."

"I don't eat when I'm working. You know that. It slows down the process." Sherlock crossed his arm as if he were a petulant teenager.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled, having to avoid Mrs Hudson's gaze lest she fall entirely into laughter. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I should have asked first. I just ordered off the take-out menu what items were starred."

"You see," Mrs Hudson declared, walking forward and swatting him lightly on the arm. He gave her a stern glance, but she ignored it. "She even made sure to order your favourites. Now go downstairs and tip the delivery man."

Narrowing his eyes at the landlady, Sherlock huffed and then disappeared downstairs. His footsteps were loud on the stairs, obviously meant to convey his annoyance. Mrs Hudson merely laughed and followed behind. As she left, Hermione caught her eye and mouthed, 'Thank you.' Honestly, if it weren't for that woman, Hermione would be lost as to how to deal with Sherlock's slight temper. She had much to learn.

When Sherlock returned, he set the bag of food on the coffee table and allowed Hermione to sort through the contents. They didn't speak as containers and chopsticks were divided out. In fact, Hermione was sure they wouldn't talk at all unless she did something. So, wandering over to where Sherlock had resumed working, she pushed away her nervousness and broke the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Hermione said hesitantly, digging into her carton with her chopsticks. "What sort of case are you working on?" She was nervous to talk with Sherlock but determined to learn who he really was.

Chewing thoughtfully, Sherlock turned slowly to regard Hermione. Clearly, she was not going to go away. Gesturing toward the wall behind the desk where he'd hung a plethora of photos and a map, he figured he might as well test her skill. "Have a look. What do you see?"

Setting down her take-out box, Hermione peered at what Sherlock had displayed. There were scribbled notes on the photographs, as well as red yarn pinned to connect certain parts of the map. It was odd to see someone else display their work, especially since this is precisely what she did on a daily basis working at the MLE. One spot, in particular, drew her attention, so she pointed to it. "You're not just working any case… You're trying to solve mine."

Sure enough, there was a star next to the spot on the map where she'd been attacked over a week ago. When she met Sherlock's gaze, he merely nodded, also setting aside his half-eaten dinner. "I found it odd when you had no one to come and retrieve you."

"You did want me to leave." Hermione swallowed down her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"It matters not." As if that simple sentence settled the matter. Nodding back at his display, he asked, "What do you think? Have you any ideas what might be going on?"

"You want my help?" He nodded, and she frowned. "Why?"

"Because there is something about you that I can't see. Something that I am missing." He ran a hand through his curls and stepped awfully close to her. "I can see everything else, the fact that you're alone by choice, that you work in a similar area as I do, that you sleep with one arm outstretched as if searching for someone to hold… But I can't see what's hiding under the surface. I need you to show me."

Mouth popping open, Hermione wanted to be angry that Sherlock had somehow figured out these things, or that he possibly watched her as she slept. However, she only felt more intrigued. If he was a mystery to her, she was even more of a mystery to him. She couldn't tell him about being a witch, not yet at least, but she could help him try and solve the pattern of this case.

"Okay," she said with determination. Placing both hands on her hips, she nodded. "Let's have a look at this thing," Sherlock smirked at her gumption, clearly glad to see her feeling better. She tried not to blush as his gaze examined her; instead, focusing on the map in front of them. Finding another star on the map, she asked, "What's this one for?"

"That was where the body was found on Christmas Eve," Sherlock explained, popping another bite of chicken into his mouth. "I felt it was a strange circumstance and so I put a star."

"Do you think it's related to my attack?" she questioned, stepping back and staring up into his mysteriously coloured eyes.

"I'm not sure yet, but I feel as if all of this is connected somehow," he said, gesturing at the map with his chopsticks. "You appear the same night a string of attacks plague London and then a Christmas Eve murder. Seems bizarre, don't you think?"

It did, in fact, seem bizarre to Hermione. So much so that she had to take a moment to process it all. What if he was right? What if the murder was related to her attack, as well as the others. Maybe this entire thing was the reason Harry wanted her to stay away. Frowning slightly, Hermione felt that may be somewhat ridiculous and let it go for now. She'd been mugged, that's all. Sure the attacker had tried to stranger her, but he hadn't tried to kill her. If John hadn't shown up…

"It's strange," she said at last. "I'll give you that. Do you mind if I look through your notes? Maybe I can be of some help put some of the pieces together. I love working on cases."

Sherlock's eyes lit up at that, and he willingly handed over some folders. John enjoyed helping him solve cases but only as a way to keep his nightmares at bay. Never before had Sherlock found someone so willing to jump into the fray. It was refreshing and overly attractive. It made his heart race and something in his chest tighten with both excitement and hope. Suddenly, he was seeing Hermione in a new light and not just because she'd stepped toward the Christmas tree.

Half amazed, Sherlock, settled down in his chair to watch as she read through his files. He hadn't given her the one with the murder information. That he would save for later. Much later. He wanted her opinion on the other attacks first, specifically her own. If she were connected to the attacks, she would probably recognise the victim's name immediately. He wasn't ready for that reveal yet. Besides, maybe by opening up to one another by way of this case, she would reveal what that wooden stick was used for.

"Can I write on these?" Hermione asked, pointing to the files.

"Sure," he replied, pulling a pen from the desk and handing it over to her. "Don't leave anything out."

"I won't," she replied, pausing long enough to give him a large grin before diving in again. She worked for a few minutes before saying, "Thank you for letting me help. I feel almost normal doing this."

"It's my pleasure," he said sincerely. "It's been a long time since I had someone so willing to join me for a case."

Hermione just smiled as she worked. She had a purpose again, and this was much better than knitting some gifts. She'd loved doing that, of course, but there was something about being in the mix of solving a case that made her feel alive. Doing this, she was adequately helpful for the first time since she arrived at Baker Street. Glancing up, she found Sherlock watching her intently. It sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine, but she knew not why. Returning to the files, she took a deep breath and began to talk it out with him, thankful when he joined her. It was as if they were meant to do this all along. Now, if only she had her wand, she could go out and examine the crime scenes properly.

Sherlock and Hermione spent the rest of the night bonding over the case until she could barely keep her eyes open. Only then, did Sherlock force her to rest. It was well after eleven by the time he put an end to their work. With one arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders, he guided her down the dimly lit hallway. As he tucked her into the bed, Hermione enjoyed the way his large hand lingered on her shoulder and the way his deep voice bid her goodnight. But it wasn't until sleep was nearly claiming her, that it occurred to her that the places on the map coincided with locations of Magical homes or structures.


	8. 27 December

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year! This is horribly late and I am terribly behind. Thank you everyone who has been supportive and understanding. I'm determined to get this story completed for you within a timely period. I should warn you though that the front of this story was more content heavy than the end. The last chapters are much shorter than the others but only about half. Also, there are two that are not written yet (I didn't realize this at the end of NaNo). I plan on working on them this weekend. Anyway, thanks for the love and I can't wait to see what you all think of this one!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **27 December 2018**

"Where were you the night of December 24th?" Theo asked, swallowing heavily and hating every minute of this interview process.

Sighing dramatically, Blaise crossed one leg over the other and set his husband with a defiant stare. "Waiting in the tub for my husband to return home to me. I was naked, by the way, and fully hard."

Biting back a grin, Theo said, "Look I need you to take this serious, Blaise."

"This is a load of rubbish, Theodore," Blaise said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "You know I'm innocent. Just write me off and let me go home. Better yet, you come home with me."

"Merlin, there is nothing I want more than to come home with you, love," Theo began, setting aside his notebook. "Unfortunately, the Minister requires us to interview everyone in the Ministry, as well as attached to it."

"Even me?" Blaise laughed sarcastically and crossed his arms. "I hate the Ministry. I know you love working here, but after the banished my family after the war, I lost all respect."

"We got that sorted, didn't we?" Theo asked, remembering all too well the few years where he and Blaise were forced to be apart due to the exile.

"We did, but that definitely tarnished the entire Ministry, in my opinion," Blaise said, frowning. "Theo, love, I know you only have a couple others left to interview, but for the love of Merlin, let me go. You've hardly slept and you know I was home all night, waiting for you."

"The Minister is counting on me to do this. He'll be asking for the transcription of this interview," Theo continued to explain. "Harry has to read over it too."

"You, darling husband, are wasting your time interviewing me," Blaise said as he crossed his arms again. "You could be out there looking for the killer right now." He smiled triumphantly as a look of clarity washed over Theo's face.

"You know what? You're right. Fuck this," Theo said, tossing aside his quill and standing. He strode over to the door and opened the damned thing. "I know you're innocent. Go home, Blaise. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

Slowly, Blaise stood from the chair and walked over to his husband. He took his face into his hands and then kissed him for a good, long time. When he broke apart, he placed his forehead against Theo's and said, "You're a brilliant detective, Theo. You're going to find the killer, I know you will."

Sighing heavily, Theo smiled as he stared into Blaise's dark eyes. "Thank you for that. I needed it."

"I know," Blaise said as he released his hold. "Now, hurry that cute arse of yours along and solve this thing so you can come home to me." Blowing a kiss, Blaise disappeared out the door.

Alone, Theo thought about the case. He only had a couple people left to interview, but they could wait until later. He wanted another look at the crime scenes and the body before it was released to the Creevy family. Grabbing his cloak, Theo left this office, intent on getting to the bottom of this case even if it meant enlisting help from one Sherlock Holmes.

. . . .

 _Harry, I was helping Sherlock look over some notes on his case last night when I realized he was working 'my' case. He's been researching my attack and the murder from Christmas Eve. I think they're related. The locations of the attacks in the paper… They're all familiar to me! Am I right? Are the cases linked? Who was murdered Christmas Eve, Harry? Please, I need to know. I want to help._

Pacing, Harry put away his mobile after reading Hermione's text for the sixth or seventh time. He really wanted to tell her that her suspicions were correct and that her case was linked to the murder on Christmas Eve. Only, he didn't want to get her or Sherlock involved further than they already were. So, instead of texting back his best friend who was probably going insane being separated from them all, he continued to pace in his kitchen.

"Good Godric, Harry," Ginny groused from over by the stove. She was finishing up breakfast for the children and trying not to go insane herself. "Why are you pacing and grumbling to yourself? It's driving me mad."

"Hermione," Harry muttered, stopping so he could turn and address his wife. "She put two and two together and figured out that her attack is linked with the Muggle attacks, as well as the murder."

Slowly, Ginny lowered the wooden spoon she'd been stirring scrambled eggs with. "So does that mean she's coming back?"

"No," Harry replied, swiping his hand through the air. "Absolutely not. She texted wanting to know if her assumptions are correct."

"Well, I hope you told her the truth, Harry," Ginny said, resuming making breakfast. "Kids! Breakfast" she shouted before using her wand to move everything to the kitchen table. Rounding on her husband who was suspiciously silent, she gave him a stern look.

"I haven't replied," Harry said sheepishly. As James, Albus, and Lily filtered into the kitchen and took their seats at the table, he wandered over to Ginny and lowered his voice. "I don't want her to come rushing back. She's safer there."

Sighing heavily, Ginny waited while the children filled their plates and then gently took her husband's hand and led him out onto the back porch. It was a cold morning but only helped to clear her mind. Turning, she looked into Harry's eyes and took his hands.

"You have to tell her but make sure she knows she can't return right now, alright?" she told him, her voice soft with concern. "If you shut her out, she's going to do something rash, plus she won't appreciate that you've done so."

Looking out at the empty backyard, Harry could find no fault in his wife's words. "I know I have to tell her. I'll do one even better and actually call her this afternoon. Theo and I are finishing interviews. As soon as we do that, I'll give her a call."

"You'd better, Harry Potter," Ginny said with sternness. Dropping his hands, she playfully poked him in the chest. "Hermione is your best friend. She deserves to know what's going on in our world while she's stuck on the outside."

"You're right," Harry muttered, kissing Ginny's forehead. He smiled when she hummed happily.

"Of course I am," she said with a smirk. "Now get back inside and enjoy breakfast with the kids before you have to go back to work. They've missed their father, and you should try and enjoy what little time Kingsley has allotted you."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry quipped and then had to dodge out of the way when Ginny made to swat him on the behind. Before they went back inside, he did manage to steal one last kiss.

. . . .

After his early trip into Muggle London, all Theo wanted to do was go home to Blaise and relax. Luckily, the Ministry had promised him a few hours off this evening if he finished his interviews. That could quickly be done, and so Theo had told his secretary to call everyone on his list. Only Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy, and Marcus Flint remained. It would be boring and repetitive, but Theo would get it done. Then, he could go home to Blaise for a few hours and let his mind rest.

A few minutes of peace was all Theo was granted after finishing his interview with Gregory Goyle. The man was married to Millicent Bulstrode and worked security at Azkaban on the weekends. Millicent was Hermione's secretary and would have access to Ministry files and records. The interview went reasonably well except for an odd moment when Greg asked if Theo had plans for the New Year yet. How was he supposed to have plans with the case still wide open? After replying as much, he sent the wizard on his way and tried to breathe.

Unfortunately, there was no rest for the weary. Greg had just left when Draco came waltzing through the door. He dropped into the chair across from Theo and drawled, "Shall we get this over with then?"

Smirking at his friend, Theo picked up his discarded quill. "In a hurry, Malfoy. That's awfully suspicious." Draco kept a straight face while he spoke, but there was a deep sadness to his grey eyes.

"Don't toy with me, Nott. Astoria has an appointment with the Healers. I don't have time to waste."

Clenching his teeth, Theo felt a wave of remorse wash over him. He hid it well, though. Draco didn't like people to sympathise over him. Astoria's _maledictus_ was well known in their group of friends. Soon, she would be dead, and Draco and Scorpius would be alone. Surely he wasn't the killer? If he were caught, that would mean a life sentence for Draco and his son would be ostracised for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, Theo had a job to do even if it was difficult.

"Okay…" Theo began slowly, pulling a fresh piece of parchment toward him. "Let's talk about your connection with the Ministry."

Sighing heavily, Draco folded his arms. "We both know that I am in charge of the Ministry's accounts at Gringotts. Do I have access to Ministry information? Yes, absolutely. Did I orchestrate mass attacks on Ministry officials and their families and kill Creevy? No. I have far more important things to worry about these days, Nott. It's not like any of the idiots here can find a way to cure my wife."

"I'm well aware, Draco," Theo said, keeping his annoyance in check. Nevertheless, I'm going to need a step-by-step of what you've been up to. Specifically the night of the 25th."

Rolling his eyes, Draco took a deep breath and began. Theo did his best to write down everything the wizard said. Forty-five minutes later, they were finished, and Theo was even more tired than before. As Draco left, he gave his friend a brief hug and then called for his secretary to send in the next wizard on the list.

After settling back in behind his desk, Theo was surprised to see Marcus Flint already sitting at his desk. Glancing around, he said, "Wow, Flint. I didn't even hear you come in here. If only you were that fast when you played Quidditch back at Hogwarts. Maybe Slytherin would have won more games." he chuckled at his own joke, and he prepared a new interview parchment.

Smirking, Marcus's crooked teeth glinted in the light. "Funny," he said about Theo's joke. "I've been trying to stay in shape. Daphne enjoys me a lot more when-"

Theo held up a hand to stop his old schoolmate from continuing. "I do not need to hear about your and Daphne's sex life, thank you very much." Marcus had recently married Daphne Greengrass when her former husband, Adrian Pucey, had suddenly passed away from a heart attack in his sleep a little under a year ago. Daphne worked in the records room downstairs with her sister until Astoria had grown too ill to continue.

"Very well," Marcus said and then cleared his throat. "Are you ready to begin?" he asked, pointing at the parchment. "I'm an open book, Nott. Feel free to ask me anything."

. . . .

Finally finished with the last of his interviews, Theo was preparing to go home for supper. The Minister had granted him a few hours leave to rest and recuperate now that the interviews were officially completed. When he returned later that evening, he and Harry would begin the tedious process of meticulously skimming through them for details. Hopefully, they would find something to help them with identifying the killer once and for all.

He'd just put on his coat when something tickled at the back of his mind. He really tried to ignore it, but the tickle only grew. Something about one of his interviews just didn't sit right in his heart. Supper would have to wait.

"Something isn't right," Theo mumbled under his breath. Turning back around, he returned to his desk and rifled through the mountain of files and papers. After a moment he found what he was looking for. Lifting the interview transcript he'd done earlier, he reread a few of the comments and then scratched at the back of his head.

"Theo?"

Snapping his head around, Theo winced when his neck cracked. Rubbing at it he answered the wizard in the doorway. "Hey, Harry."

Recognising the look on Theo's face as the one he often got when about to crack a difficult case, Harry stepped into the office. "What is it? What have you figured out."

"I think I know who may be our killer," he said slowly, the horror of the situation sinking in.

Harry reached out for the file Theo held, an uneasiness creeping into his gut as he looked down at the name scrawled across the top of the page. After his initial shock wore off, he quickly skimmed the transcript. Sure enough, there were a few inconsistencies with the wizard's alibi and some of the comments he'd made. "I didn't expect this," he admitted, glancing up at Theo.

"Nor did I," Thero agreed. "Not him… Never him."

"We have to be careful, Theo," Harry said slowly, handing the transcript back to the wizard. "He's linked to some pretty powerful people. Are you going to be okay?"

Staring down at the interview in his hand, Theo felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He had a job to do though. This was strictly business. Looking back at Harry, he just said, "I'm going to have to be."

. . . .

When she'd woke up today, Hermione immediately sent a text to Harry asking about whether or not her suspicions were correct. Sherlock was absent from the flat, as was Mrs Hudson. This left Hermione to examine the evidence on her own, using the solitude to her advantage. It was true she didn't have her wand; however, she had always been partial to nonverbal spells anyway. Glancing back and forth just to ensure she was truly alone, she reached out with her magic and tried to figure out a connection.

That was how John found her later that evening. "Hey, Hermione," he called, jerking her back to reality. When she stumbled, he quickly dropped his coat and made to grab her before she could hit the floor. "Whoa!"

Once he'd helped her to sit in Sherlock's chair, Hermione took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said breathily, chest heaving. It hurt, and it was then that she realised she'd overexerted herself with the wandless magic.

"What happened? What were you doing?" John asked, kneeling beside her and going to take her pulse. He frowned at whatever he calculated and then stood to go rummage through his doctor bag.

"I guess I just stood for too long. I'm trying to help Sherlock with his case." She accepted the medicine tablets he handed her, popping them in her mouth and then taking the glass of water he gave her. He hoped he didn't pester her further about it; she didn't want to lie about having used magic.

"Did he ask you to because if he did, I'm going to kill him. You're not supposed to be overexerting yourself." John sighed, genuinely concerned for her and she suddenly felt terrible.

"I'm sorry, John," she apologised, relaxing into the worn leather chair. "I'll take it easy. I swear."

"Good." John moved to sit in his chair, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "Why are you helping Sherlock with his case, anyway?"

"Because it's mine," she replied simply, taking another sip of water. Already, she could feel a little bit of her strength returning. At John's startled look, she shrugged one shoulder. "And because I think it's related to the case my team is working on too."

"You're in law enforcement?" John looked surprised, to say the least. He ran a hand through his hair and reminded her of Harry for a moment. He hadn't been part of the conversation she'd had with Mary about her occupation.

She shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant. "Sort of. Private sector. Very much a need to know basis." That was the best she could say by way of explanation without revealing her true self.

"Were you sent here by Mycroft?" he asked, suddenly causing her to frown.

"Who?" She had no idea who that might be. She quickly wracked her brain for any mention of the name but found none.

Shaking his head, John muttered, "Nevermind," and then made to stand. "Look, I came by to check on you, but you're not going to get any better if you don't take it easy, okay?"

"I'm going to relax the rest of the evening. I swear it." She smiled, crossing her heart with a gesture and earning her a laugh from the good doctor.

"That's what I like to hear. If you feel worse or anything at all, use the mobile I gave you to call Mary or even bloody Sherlock. They can get in touch with me. I have to work at the clinic this weekend." He patted her on the shoulder and then bent to pick up his coat from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "I'll see you Monday for the New Year's Eve party."

"Okay! Give Mary and Rosie my best." Hermione smiled, grateful that she was lucky enough to have been rescued by such a kind-hearted man. John was great, and she felt bad for pushing herself. Clearing her throat, she managed to get his attention before he disappeared out the door. "And thank you, John. I appreciate all of this, really I do."

John's face softened, and he cleared his throat, though she suspected for a different reason. "You're welcome, Hermione. Have a good night."

"You too, John."

After John left, Hermione stood and wandered over to the sofa and got comfortable there instead. Idly, she wished Sherlock would come home with more details about the case so she could talk it through with him. Hermione was just about to slip into a light doze where she sat when the mobile in her pocket rang. Quickly, she pulled it from the pocket, her heart hoping it was Sherlock. She was only slightly disappointed when she didn't recognise the number right away.

Still, she hit the green button and held the mobile to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hermione? It's Harry."

"Harry! It's so good to hear from you," she breathed, holding the mobile tight against her ear as if she were hugging her friend instead. When there was a sigh on the other end of the line, she frowned. "Harry? What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's the case, Hermione," Harry said solemnly. "You were right. The cases are all linked, and Theo thinks he knows who did it."

Sitting up straighter, Hermione got a determined look on her face as she stared at the stack of case notes on Sherlock's desk. "Tell me. I want to help."

"You have to promise me one thing though. Can you do that?"

"Sure. Anything. Please, I just want to help. I feel so useless."

"You have to promise that you'll remain where you are. Being with Sherlock Holmes is the safest place for you right now. Can you do that for me?" Harry asked, almost pleading.

Glancing around the empty flat, Hermione placed a hand on her still broken ribs. She did feel safer with Sherlock around, that was true, but could she promise to stay here while her friends searched for the murderer? As she pondered this, the man in question strode through the door. He paused when he saw her on the phone, his eyes full of concern. It was in that instant that Hermione knew she could easily remain here with the consulting detective.

Taking a deep breath, she met Sherlock's gaze and replied to Harry. "I promise to remain here with Sherlock. Now, tell me what we can do to help solve this case."


	9. 28 December

**Author's Note:** I'm utterly thrilled that I was able to get this done today. Now, I do have the next two chapters I have to write from scratch so please be patient if I don't get the next one our tomorrow. I'm shooting for about 3k per chapter but I'm not sure I can do that with what content needs to occur. I'm so excited with the feedback on the last chapter! It's fun to read what you have to say! Keep it coming, please! Enjoy!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight

*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . .

 **28 December 2018**

It was early. Hermione was resting, and Sherlock was staring idly out one of the front windows as he pondered on the conversations he and his houseguest had the night before. Whoever she worked for had informed her that her attack was related to the ongoing case they were working on and that Sherlock was investigating as well. Oddly enough, she knew the murder victim. They'd attended school together.

As much as he wanted to believe everything that Hermione said, too many pieces were not lining up in the greater scheme of things. Who was she really and why did she refuse to tell him the full truth. At least now he knew why Detective Nott reached out to him the day before, inquiring what he thought about the body. Evidently, it wasn't only Scotland Yard wanting his help with the case now. Even the private sector needed his aid. Apparently.

His conversation with Nott had been brief but informative. There was something strange about the man, almost as if he didn't quite belong in the world around him. Sherlock didn't quite know what to make of that. His quick deduction was that the man was married, addicted to whiskey but not an alcoholic, and that he grew up rather rich. There was something else there that he couldn't quite see and it made him think of Hermione and the wooden stick he still had hidden on the mantle.

Eventually, he'd get to the bottom of that, but first, there was the case to solve. However, something made him turn away from the window and look toward the back bedroom. He's walked in on Hermione's phone conversation with her friend last night. She'd promised to stay here with him in return for information on the case. She truly was a woman after his own heart. He would have done the same. Laughing softly, Sherlock only wished her friend had given them more to go on in regards to the case.

Unconsciously, Sherlock headed for the back bedroom where Hermione slept. The door was cracked open, and he quietly nudged it open just a tad more with the toe of his shoe. Because of the early hour, it was still dark, the room lit only by the few odd strands of fairy lights Mrs Hudson had hung before Christmas. He never understood the absurd tradition to keep decorations up until the New Year, but he wasn't about to argue with his landlady.

Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention to Hermione. She was peaceful in sleep, the stress of her injuries and the ever-growing case not causing worry lines on her face. If he had to admit it, Sherlock would say that Hermione was a simple beauty and her intelligence only intensified that. However, no one had asked, and he was not one to share aloud his feelings regarding anything let alone the bushy-haired woman who'd taken refuge here in 221B.

They were still meshing out the logistics of this case they both found themselves intertwined in, but they would figure it out together. She said as much a few hours ago before he'd ushered her off to bed. Never had he worried about someone other than himself the way he worried about her. There was something to this mystery woman, and he wasn't yet ready to see her go despite his initial feelings regarding her presence at the flat.

As she stirred, Sherlock hurried to slip from the room unnoticed. It would not do well for her to find him watching her while she slept. She was probably already having nightmares from the attack, he did not need to add to her worries. Not now that she'd put her trust in him for some absurd reason. He was not an easy man to get along with, and he had no idea why she would even want to remain with him.

Returning to the window, Sherlock did silently vow to take care of her Hermione. If she were putting her trust him, then he would do his best to honour that. At some point, the woman had wheedled her way into his heart, and he had no idea how or why. Hell, he didn't even know if it meant anything at all. It wasn't like he knew how to love someone anyway. The work always came first. Could he find a way for her to take its place?

. . . .

"I don't think we should have been the ones to interview our family and friends," Nott said miserably. He was sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on the surface and his face hidden in his hands.

"Probably not," Harry muttered in reply. He was slouched in the chair across from his partner and friend while staring into his cold cup of coffee. "Kingsley didn't have anyone else to do it though. It had to be us. Kingsley wouldn't have figured out our suspect. It took knowing them to do that."

"If I'm right and he's the killer, what then?" Theo asked, lifting his face so he could stare at Harry. "What would you do if it was Ron or Ginny?"

"I want to say that I would do my job and just arrest them so I could do interrogations, but that's not the truth," Harry admitted. Leaning forward, he set the cup on the desk. "Honestly, I'd probably rush to them and demand an answer as to why they did what they did."

"That's what I want to do." Sitting up, Theo ran a hand through his hair and then chuckled darkly. "This is so fucked up. Never in my life would I think we'd be in this position."

"Well, we were all under the impression that Death Eaters and Blood Supremacy were a thing of the past." Standing, Harry wandered to the door and glanced out into the hallway. When he saw that the hall was empty, he tugged the door closed and put a silencing charm on it. "When I talked to Hermione last night I didn't tell her who we think the killer was simply because I'm certain he is the one who went after her."

"Good," Theo replied, drumming his fingers on the desk. "She has enough to be worrying about with all her injuries. By the way, I went and talked to Holmes yesterday." He hesitated before looking at Harry. He knew this was going to be an argument of sorts.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Harry snapped, striding back toward Theo. "What did you tell him?"

"I wanted to know what he thought about the body." Smirking, Theo suspected Harry may be about to have an aneurysm based on the colour of his face. It was rather amusing.

"What if you were followed?" Harry asked, dropping back into the chair and fixing Theo with a glare. He tried to breathe slowly to ease the anger he felt. "I told Hermione she would be safer there. In fact, I made her promise not to come rushing back but if you compromised that-"

"Don't worry, Potter," Theo said, holding up his hand to stop other wizard's rant. "I met with him at the morgue. That place is ridiculously secure, and no one saw me arrive."

"You can't be certain. You said so yourself, our suspect is good at what he does." Harry couldn't stop the irrational fear from bubbling up inside of him after learning what Theo did. It almost made him want to run off to Baker Street and find a new place to stash Hermione away.

"He is. Very good," Theo said slowly. "But he's waiting for her to return, in my opinion. She's his true target." He'd thought long and hard about this last night as he lied wide awake next to his husband in the dark. Sleep hadn't even been in the cards for him last night after learning what he had.

"Why would her return be important?" Harry asked, confusion clouding his face. "As far as he knows, she's in the hospital or at her flat recovering."

"No," Theo said and winced. "I'm pretty sure he knows she's hiding away somewhere."

Realisation dawned on Harry's face then, and he let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Damn it, Theo. That's why he hasn't done anything else."

"I think Creevey's death was his way of trying to draw her back out," Theo explained. "If we move her or bring her back to our world, so to speak, we could very well lose her to him."

"I just don't understand why she's the intended target," Harry mumbled, removing his glasses to rub at his face. He was utterly exhausted. Seven days of this nonsense with no real answers yet was really starting to drain him. "What has she done to provoke him? It makes no sense."

"Sure it does," Theo said, smiling despite the situation. He waited for Harry to return his glasses to his face before adding, "Kingsley is about to retire. Who is the only logical person, aside from you, to take his place."

All feeling drained from Harry's body at that reveal. "He doesn't want her to become Minister." There were rumours that Hermione would be the next Minister, but Harry never took it too seriously. For some reason, he just assumed Kingsley would stay Minister forever. Silly notions.

"Exactly. He doesn't want a Muggle-born witch in charge," Theo said, feeling slightly sick at the prospect of someone wanting to kill Hermione because she could be their future Minister. Then again, they dealt with this twenty years ago too.

They were both silent for quite a while. There was far too much to think about in regards to the case. Now that they had a suspect in mind, they needed to come up with a plan. Because of the closeness of the situation, they hadn't yet gone to the Minister with their suspicions. Eventually, they would have to though. Sighing, it was Harry who broke the silence.

"I guess we need to come up with a plan," Harry said solemnly as he met his friend's sad stare.

Instead of replying, Theo merely sighed.

. . . .

Getting into the bath was more comfortable now, and so Hermione didn't bother disrupting Sherlock from his playing. He'd picked up his violin sometime after dinner and hadn't stopped playing since. The tune was unfamiliar to her, leaving her to assume he'd composed it himself. Mary said he did that often, composing music during emotionally sensitive parts of his life. She wondered what he was focussing on now as she relaxed in bathtub listening to the music flow in from the half-opened door.

Having taken care of her hair and body, she relished the warmth of the bath and closed her eyes as the beautiful music calmed her frazzled nerves. As she lay there, she thought not of the case, but of Sherlock and his persistence toward solving it. Was he doing it just because it was another case or was there something more there? Sighing, she hated that she hoped it was the latter. While Sherlock was still very much a mystery to her, she couldn't help but be compelled toward him.

It was maddening in a sense, being so enthralled in someone only to have them care less than nothing about you in return. At least, that's the way it appeared. Maybe solving the mystery of her attacker and the other similar instances would bring them closer together. The only issue was that she was still unable to comfortably walk the stairs (she'd tried) and Harry wanted her to remain here. That was the other thing…

Harry had confirmed her suspicions, her attack being one of many that occurred throughout three days in London. Someone had it out for Muggleborns, an issue that caused the Wizarding community to go on high alert. Hermione knew in her heart that she was incapable of helping her team of MLE agents and Aurors solve anything in this state, which was the only reason she remained in 221B with Sherlock. If she couldn't be out there in the fray, then she was going to keep aiding Sherlock in his deductions at the very least. Only, she had to do it without magic seeing as that drained her completely.

As Sherlock continued to play and Hermione's bathwater grew cold, she decided it was time to get out. Biting her lip, she really didn't want to call for him and interrupt his playing since she knew he was most likely thinking about the case. With a sigh, she let the water out of the tub and then waited for it to drain thoroughly before attempting to stand. Surely, she was well enough by now to complete such a simple task as pushing herself upright in the tub? She did it all the time on chairs and the bed.

Holding her breath, Hermione gripped the edges of the tub and heaved herself upright. All appeared well; she didn't even feel too much of an ache in her chest. Carefully, she finished pulling herself into a standing position and then exhaled harshly. Breathing again, she smiled, thankful she'd successfully got herself up in the tub. In her excitement, Hermione made to step out of the tub; only, she didn't entirely account for the fact that she probably used most of her energy.

Exhausted, her feet slipped on the still damp tub, and she went flailing. Closing her eyes, she knew that if she hit the side with her ribs, she'd be in dire trouble, so in a last ditch effort, she wrenched her body around mid-fall. The side of the tub hit her back so hard the breath was immediately knocked from her body. She grunted from the impact, her body folding in on itself as she toppled over the ledge and landed on the tile floor in quite an undignified manner. Idly, she noticed that the violin had abruptly cut off at some point during all this.

With a gasp, Hermione found herself able to breathe once more. She took great heaving breaths as she tried to work through the pain in her body. She needed to move, to get up off this floor and wrap a towel around her naked form, but there was no way she was moving right this moment. Even the thought of sitting up made her want to cry. As the door to the bathroom was thrown open, she stared wide-eyed into Sherlock's shocked face.

"What the devil were you thinking!?" he asked, standing above her and taking in the entire situation. "Why didn't you call for my assistance?"

"I thought I could handle it on my own," she said and then winced as she tried to move. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"For the love of…" Sherlock trailed off and then bent down to help her sit up. "John is going to be furious with you if you caused any of your ribs to refracture." Pausing, he frowned as he was able to get Hermione to sit against the side of the tub. "Or rather, he's going to be furious with me for not taking proper care of you."

"It wasn't your fault," she said simply, pulling her legs up to her chest and covering herself. It hadn't really occurred to her, but she was, in fact, entirely nude. "I'm sure I'm fine. Other than being winded and achy, I don't think anything worse has occurred."

Sherlock began to pace, shaking his head at her attempt to placate him. "This will certainly set your healing back days, at any rate."

He continued rambling on, gesturing wildly in his apparent anger. Hermione wanted to smile, to laugh even, but she was cold sitting naked on the floor, and she desperately wished to be in bed with some of the pain medicine John had prescribed for her. Deciding she'd better stop him before he worked himself up into a tizzy, Hermione cleared her throat so that he would finish.

"Uh, Sherlock?" she queried, lifting her gaze to his when he paused. "Do you think you could hand me a towel?" She gestured down her body with one hand, careful to keep herself covered as best she could.

Sherlock blanched, finally realising the state she was in. "Oh! Yes, of course." He grabbed her towel from the rack and handed it to her before stepping back and averting his gaze.

"Thank you," she mumbled, a blush gracing her cheeks as she wrapped it around herself. "Could you help me up now, do you think?" She bit her lip, again embarrassed at even having to ask.

He stooped without comment and wrapped his arm around her waist to carefully hoist her upward. The pain was minimal, but even so, she stumbled as she was placed on her feet, the towel slipping to the floor. It was too late to do much about it, though. Sherlock took hold of her shoulders and held her flush against his body.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, her hands clutching at his white Oxford shirt. Her breasts were pressed against him, and they were both breathing heavily. It took everything she had, but somehow, Hermione peered up at Sherlock through her lashes. "I'm so sorry. I'm not normally this clumsy."

"It's quite alright," Sherlock murmured, his grip softening as he slid his palms down her arms, thumbs brushing over her soft skin. "Are you hurt?" He looked down into her eyes, apparently not worried about her lack of dress.

In fact, Hermione could have sworn that was concern reflected in his beautiful eyes. She swallowed, feeling slightly warm all of a sudden. "I'm feeling okay, all things considered," she replied softly, dropping her gaze to his chest. She knew she should back away and try to get her towel, but something held her there, in his arms. "Sherlock… I-"

As if breaking from a spell, Sherlock inhaled sharply and released the hold he had on Hermione. "I presume you'll be well enough to walk to the bedroom unassisted," he said breezily and then nodded once before ducking around her and exiting the loo.

Hermione was left standing there, naked and entirely exposed like never before. What had she been about to say and why did Sherlock want to get away so quickly? Had he felt it too, that indescribable connection they shared? She'd certainly felt it and had since that first night when he'd allowed her to use his bedroom. Turning slowly, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the open door, her heart racing and a feeling she'd not experienced in quite some time flowing through her veins.


End file.
